Civilities
by Della-Avril
Summary: Seras Victoria is the unmarried eldest daughter of a social-climbing London family. By what seems a stroke of good luck, Seras attracts the attention of a foreign nobleman. [AU][AxS]
1. notitiam

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hellsing_ , but I wish that I did. I'd be very rich and happy.

** =noted/further explained at the bottom of the page

* * *

 _Civilities_

 **I.**

Seras couldn't remember the last time she had been quite so anxious.

Yes, her corset _was_ simply too tight and her bust was showing too much for her liking, but such small wardrobe malfunctions didn't matter. The pale blue dress her mother had pulled from her wardrobe _was_ older (and still in fashion, thank you), however Seras found she could overlook it. Her satin slippers _were_ rather faded, but no one's gaze would be lingering on her feet for long. And while she did indeed have to settle with more flowers instead of diamonds, but such trivialities had never worried her before.

Seras smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror, sparing it an uncharacteristically girlish twirl and giggle. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for a quick pop of color and smiled at the results. However she couldn't help but frown. This doll, with her smooth blonde hair, delicate silk gloves, and painted face was beautiful, but she was not the Seras Victoria she knew. However, it would do for the night.

The Victoria family had _finally_ been invited to a highly-anticipated _ton*_ ball, complete with ballroom dancing, floor masters, aristocrats, visiting nobles and the like at Woburn Abbey. Her mother practically swooned when the invitation had been delivered two weeks ago, and her father had nearly thrown his back out by taking up so many new cases in order to purchase the newest fashions for the event. Being formally accepted in to polite society was an investment that would pay well for itself over time.

Seras personally thought her family was well-off enough with their upper-middle class social standing, but the perks of having connected connections were impossible to ignore. It was a big night for her family, and Seras was obligated to perform her duty regardless of how she felt about the matter. It was just sad, Seras thought absentmindedly, that her only appreciated duty was no more than entertaining stately suitors.

There was a quick knock at her door before it was flung open. Seras started and dropped her hairbrush, cringing when it hit the ground with a sharp _thud_. Oh dear, she hoped its delicate silver back hadn't shattered – it was one of the nicer things that she owned. Her mother, thank god, hadn't seemed to notice.

"Seras, have you seen Edith? The carriage is waiting, and I haven't even had the time to choose her brooch…" The frantic woman wasted no time and brushed past her eldest daughter in search of the youngest. Seras couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't fret, mother. I helped her dress quite a bit ago – I believe she's using the mirror in the water closet to apply rouge." Seras smiled as she reached for her shawl and fan. Her mother wasn't usually so excitable, but this evening was an exception. Mrs. Victoria practically threw her hands up in the air in frustration at the news, but settled for raising them halfway past her bosom at the last moment. Anything more would have creased her silk sleeves.

"Rouge? Rouge! What business do respectable young ladies have with _rouge_?" Her mother practically wailed in exasperation, swiftly turning on her heel and practically hopping out of the room. Seras couldn't hold in her laughter.

"Mother, Caroline assured me that all the other ladies were wearing it!" Edith must have overheard and stood outside the water closet with the offending lip color in hand.

"Oh yes, and I'm certain Miss Caroline would assure your suitors that _she_ would never be so vulgar as to even think to apply such rubbish!" Mrs. Victoria's counterattack was strong, and after a few more feeble protests Edith relented and washed away the rouge. Seras watched the exchange with a smile, happy to be out of her mother's horse blinders for the first time in a long time. The thought was bittersweet, but Seras had accepted it. She was approaching the status of an old maid, after all.

If the Victoria family wanted to move up in London society – and by God their mother did – then one of the sisters would have to marry quite well. As respectable (and wealthy) members of the upper-middle class, their family was on the cusp of being accepted into the gentry. However, Seras was nineteen and unmarried. It was a death sentence in more than one place in upper society.

What irritated her mother most about the fact was that two years ago Seras had been avidly pursued by plenty of well-to-do suitors – and still was by those that hadn't already married. She had everything a man of the lower gentry or upper middle class could want: beauty, manners, a relatively known family name, a plump dowry, and a respectable reputation.

But Seras was one of those unfortunate "romantics." She didn't want to marry for status or money, but for love. She said she found a majority of her suitors too unkind, too crude, or too unrefined to marry; or, that's at least what she told her father when her rejections came to light at the dinner table. While both Seras and her mother knew the real reason, they also knew that with each passing year any attention directed toward Seras would dwindle until it had been totally turned toward a younger, prettier debutante. Apparently men couldn't wait forever. but Seras was certain that love could.

Seras fingered the tarlatan of her long, pale blue dress. It suited her by bringing out the fairness of her skin and the blue of her eyes, but she had to admit that it paled in comparison to Edith's ball gown. It had been tailored specially for her by one of the most sought after seamstresses, and was where the bulk of earnings from their father's extra cases had gone. Edith had only just turned seventeen the previous month and was considered ripe for the picking.

"Seras…" Edith asked playfully as they followed their mother down the polished mahogany staircase.

"Yes, Edith?" Seras giggled, shoving both their shawls and Edith's fan in her sister's arms. Edith huffed in melodramatic indignation before making a show of hurrying down the last flight to block Seras' way.

"Don't I look _marvelous_?" Edith drawled in the exaggerated, haughty accent that she and Seras used to mock the patronizing men their father represented in court. Seras burst out laughing and ignored her mother's shush from the drawing room, pushing Edith out of the way before taking the time to really get a good look at her younger sister.

"Oh Edith… you're so beautiful!" Her sister's long, flowing white and red bustled muslin gown was centered by a fashionable yet acceptable neckline that was studded with hints of glimmering rubies and diamonds. Her glossy dark brown locks had literally been in ribbons for days to achieve the perfect curls, and her up-do was beyond perfection. Seras felt a tinge of envy, but quickly brushed it aside.

It was Edith's turn to shine, and Edith had no qualms when it came to courting men she had no real interest in.

"Thank you, Seras! And you look as gorgeous as usual!" Edith fingered the tarlatan of Seras' dress lightly before stepping away. "It's a wonder why you have yet to be married." She murmured wistfully, handing Seras her shawl as their mother and father entered the foyer. Seras couldn't help her frown.

Comments on her lack of a husband always upset her more than they should have, for she was certainly used to them by now. But it was true that she was approaching an age where there were fewer and fewer gentleman asking to sign her card*, and fewer a chance of her being able to marry for love. If their family was to climb the social ladder, they certainly couldn't have a spinster with the Victoria family name. It was a shame, a disgrace, and totally unacceptable. It was a subject that made Seras horribly uncomfortable, anxious, and guilty.

In this case, it seemed more logical to emphasize Seras' appearance, but attracting suitors was not her problem. It was the courtship that always led to an inevitable rejection on her part. Mrs. Victoria was of the opinion that Seras had certainly already had her chance to choose a "loving" husband, and needed to pick from what she had left. Edith was a flower ready to blossom, and everyone agreed that it should be a wealthy, respectable young man who picked her. It was Edith's turn to take center stage.

"Come, the night waits for no man!" Mrs. Victoria was a great fan of melodramatic romance novels, and unfortunately the dialogue had begun to rub off on her. Their small family had finally assembled themselves in the foyer.

Mr. Victoria, a tall man with a stern face and soft eyes, shook his head with a tolerant smile as he moved to take his greatcoat from the butler. Mr. Victoria was a retired detective turned high-rise attorney, and through his experience with law enforcement protocol was able to easily rid his clients of pesky lawsuits. Mr. Victoria never charged more than his fair share, much to his wife's discontent, and was in turn held in high regard by his clients. It helped that these clients were well-respected members of the landed gentry and aristocracy.

"Shall we?" Mr. Victoria asked, sweeping the long coat over his superfine waistcoat. Mrs. Victoria dutifully took his arm with a happy hum.

After she wrapped her thin silver shawl over her shoulders and gave Edith a well-deserved deck on the head, Seras followed her parents out of the entrance hall, down the front steps, and in to the awaiting carriage.

Seras had a vague sympathy for sardines during those carriage rides, but always enjoyed the conversation and the atmosphere of them. The carriage was reserved specifically for Mr. Victoria's work and special occasions. She couldn't help but feel a bit of a princess.

The trip to Woburn Abbey thankfully took no longer than two hours, a fact both Seras and Edith were thankful for when their mother began to remind them of their etiquette and dancing do's and don'ts. The topic was cut short when the party was five minutes away from the abbey and Mrs. Victoria discovered a distressingly misplaced stitch on Mr. Victoria's waistcoat.

"Seras, you shall never guess the secret Caroline shared with me at tea." Edith took advantage of the opportunity and giggled behind her fan. Seras rolled her eyes.

"I can only imagine what she could've possibly mislead you toward this time!" Caroline Binsworth was one of Edith's treasured gentle-born friends, and in turn treasured Edith like a housemaid. However while Caroline was rather plain, and Edith was a bird of prey and naturally attracted some of the most handsome young men in the room. Caroline was intelligent enough to use such a friend to her advantage.

"I beg your pardon! Caroline spoke that the Duke invited a high-ranking Wallachian nobleman, and he accepted the invitation!" Edith had a familiar look on her face. Seras could see where this was going. "I'm so excited to see him! Have you ever seen anyone from Eastern Europe? How romantic it must-"

"What do you mean by 'see?' If you're so enchanted, why merely settle with sight? Why don't you," Seras paused for a dramatic effect and leaned in close, her blue eyes wide, " _introduce yourself_?"

"Seras!" Edith hissed, snapping her fan none-too-gently against her sister' wrist as Seras burst into laughter.

"Edith!" Mrs. Victoria snapped to attention at the sight of unladylike behavior. Apparently the seam situation had been resolved.

"Mother!" Edith whined as they approached the manicured grounds of the manor.

"I'll have none of that tonight, thank you very much! You girls were not raised to be girls, but ladies, and I'll take nothing less than such! There are a number of esteemed individuals who shall be in attendance tonight, and I expect both of you to make the most of such an opportunity." She cast a non-too-discreet glance at Edith. Seras wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved.

"Seras, after mass last Sunday Mr. Thornsbury specifically inquired if _you_ would be attending this ball." Mrs. Victoria suddenly diverted the conversation from Edith to Seras. One sister's shoulders relaxed and the other's tensed. Seras couldn't hide her frown at the blatant hint.

Mr. Thornsbury was one of her father's associates and represented another law firm on the other side of London. He had long been one of her most faithful suitors, and never seemed to be off put by any cancelled plans or returned bouquets. It wasn't that he was particularly mean or ugly, or that he smelled or had killed someone. Mr. Thornsbury was, however, only ten years younger than her father and a good twenty five years her senior. He was only a little taller than her, quite a bit rounder, and his breath always smelled like peanuts.

"Mr. Thornsbury is a highly respected attorney. He does you a great honor; an honor to which I have yet to see you deserve." Mrs. Victoria growled as the carriage halted under the canopied entrance of the sterling white mansion. Before Seras had a chance to retort the door was opened and her father was stepping down to help her mother out.

Seras didn't resent Mr. Thornsbury. He was actually a very kind man with a good sense of humor, and despite their age difference they always managed to have some sort of interesting conversation. No, Seras disliked what Mr. Thornsbury represented: settling.

By marrying Mr. Thornsbury, Seras would be settling for a marriage without passion, without undying love. Oh yes, they always said that love would come later, but how could they really be sure – and who were _they_ to being with, anyway? Seras also highly doubted that Mr. Thornsbury would approve of her dreams and aspirations. She'd have no choice but to give them up, and resign herself to hoping that she could one day publish something under a male pen name once her husband passed. She grimaced at the thought – how depressing.

"I will find this prince by the end of the night, Seras." Edith swore once the carriage had disappeared in to the night and they were following their parents into the mansion.

"How are you so sure he's a prince?" Seras humored her as they and their mother split from their father to enter the marbled ladies' dressing room. While their family was fashionably late and were the only guests present in the chamber, the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and oils still lingered in the air.

"Oh Seras, don't you read the print? Wallachia is losing its standing and will soon be swallowed up by that kingdom next to it!"

"…you mean Moldavia?"

"Yes, yes, Moldavia. They're an absolute mess; the only ones who could ever afford to escape _have_ to be royalty." Edith sighed as the chambermaid whisked their shawls away into the cloak room. She and Seras left the dressing room for the long hall to wait for their father, as was proper. The ladies took a seat on a stiff Versailles settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

"How do you know you won't end up meeting a king instead?" Seras asked quietly, afraid one of the passerby would hear. The ballroom, dining room, and refreshment room were all located at the very end of the hallway, and once the sisters had left the dressing room they had seen many more people.

"Then I'd say I'd like to be queen!" Edith retorted without even bothering to try to be inconspicuous. A few passing couples cast a curious glance in their direction, and Seras couldn't hold down her blush.

"Edith!" Seras scolded. Edith rolled her eyes and looked away, only to immediately stand and wave at someone down the hall.

"Oh, there's Caroline!" Edith sing-songed, picking up her skirts to shuffle toward the leader of a well-dressed group of young people. "Caroline, how good it is to see you…!" Her bubbly voice faded as she neared the group and was engulfed by it.

And just like that, Seras found herself sitting alone on the settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

* * *

The ball was quite a success.

The refreshments were deemed delicious, the music of the highest caliber, and the atmosphere as joyful as could possibly be. From what Seras could see, Edith was having the time of her life! Her card had been quickly filled with the names of up-and-coming young gentlemen and despite none being her mysterious Wallachian prince, her smile never faded and her eyes never lost their sparkle.

Seras grinned from where she sat next to her mother on the side of the ballroom, her gaze following her sister. Her younger sister's smile was so infectious, and she truly seemed to be enjoying herself! And it was well that she should be. She had the charm, grace, beauty, and personality to be the belle of the ball. Seras felt a pang of jealousy, but quickly brushed it aside. She was happy for her sister, and such trivial things like collecting suitors had never interested her.

Besides, it wasn't as if she had been sitting the entire night.

Seras had danced the first dance with none other than Mr. Thornsbury, and her father had claimed the second. She was lucky enough to have the third with her long lost childhood friend, Pip Bernadotte, and then with one of his "business associates."

No matter what Pip thought of her, Seras wasn't stupid. She knew that Pip had taken up several questionable occupations almost as soon as he had graduated from Oxford, although when she had accidentally learned of the fact she hadn't been much too surprised. Why else would a Frenchman spend so much time in England?

Aside from the fact, it had still been lovely to see him and Seras had missed him very much. But then his associate had needed him, and after giving her a sheepish smile he let himself be pulled away. So now she was sitting next to her mother, not quite sure what to do next. She was getting bored, but it didn't seem like she would have that luxury for long.

Seras had only just turned to admire the craftsmanship of one of the paintings on the wall behind her when she felt _it_. It wasn't so much a presence than a feeling, a subconscious sixth sense's goose bump-inducing warning of danger. She felt a shadow cast over her, and her shoulders involuntarily tensed under its dark caress. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips, like wood over sandpaper.

It took so much to simply turn around. There was an absurd fear that suddenly struck her, and begged her to flee before it was too late. But that would've been rude, and this was an aristocrat's ball. There was nothing to fear here.

And standing before her was nothing to fear. If anything, it was something to giggle about on the carriage ride home. A tall, broad-shouldered man with glimmering lengths of black hair and lily white skin was bent at the waist with her mother's hand in his palm. Though he was impeccably dressed in a glossy superfine-dress coat, the impressive golden strings of rubies that surrounded his white necktie hinted at gaudiness. In fact there was something about this man, from the oversized ruby thumb ring on top of his white kid gloves to the onyx walking stick crowned with a gold wolf's head, that was ominous.

"It is a pleasure." His English was flavored with a foreign accent. Seras' eyes widened. Perhaps this was Edith's prince?

And then the floor manager* was standing in front of her, and she could feel her mother and the supposed prince's eyes on her.

"Miss Victoria, may I introduce the fifth Count Dracul of Wallachia?" The floor manager gestured to her, and then to the Count. Seras was struck dumb; for once, Edith had been right!

The Count dipped at the waist and extended his hand, peering up at her through long, glossy dark hair. Seras noticed that he hid his eyes behind a pair of darkened lenses. She thought it was rather odd for an evening ball, but perhaps he had a medical condition that prescribed for it. If not… well, he was foreign nobility, so such an offense could be easily brushed away. His status explained his less than modest embellishments as well.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria." The Count said as the floor manager took his leave, satisfied that the exchange was perfectly polite. Seras shivered at the way the Count said her name but forced a shaky smile.

"It is a greater pleasure to meet you, My Lord." Seras replied, placing her hand lightly in his. His smile did not fade as he bent over it.

Instead of kissing the top of the back of her hand as custom dictated, he kissed the back of her wrist. Seras did not allow her smile to falter as he did so, but then – _did he just sniff her?_

No, the word "sniff" didn't do justice. _Inhale_ better defined it. Seras only just resisted the urge to backhand him because he was a count and – although she would never admit it out loud – she might've just felt _something_ shoot through her at his kiss.

No one else had seemed to notice the nobleman's less than savory greeting. Her mother was in a different world full of fantastical royal weddings, and the people milling around them only spared a curious glance every once in a while.

But Seras knew, and the smile that marred his face when he finally looked up told her that he knew she knew. What a creep.

"Mrs. Victoria," Count Dracul only let go of Seras' hand once he rose from his bow, much to her discomfort. But it wasn't as if Seras' mother had really cared to notice. "Might I ask your permission for the honor of your daughter's next dance?"

Seras felt a pang of pity for the Count now. Edith was engaged for all of the remaining dances and because she was off somewhere on the dance floor, he would have to be let down by her mother! What a dreadful way to be rejected, especially in a foreign land's court. But then this weirdo had just smelled her wrist, so she was kind of okay with throwing him at Edith. She'd wanted him in the first place anyway, not Seras.

Mrs. Victoria smiled brilliantly at the Count, and then at Seras. Seras felt something drop in the pit of her stomach. Oh no, he wasn't asking for _her_ , was he?

"You needn't have asked, My Lord." Perhaps there was still a slight chance that they were talking about Edith.

The dreadful man smiled his awful smile again. It was dark and deep, and only grew more terrible when he turned to face Seras. His gaze never left hers even as he dipped into a bow at the waist. She absolutely hated the fact that she couldn't see his eyes. His darkened lenses left too many things to the imagination, and hers was too active for her own good.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Victoria?" His etiquette was better than some of the born and bred English in the room. With a graceful flick of the wrist he took hold of her hand once more, never mind that she hadn't accepted yet.

She would, and they both knew it.

"The pleasure is mine, My Lord." Seras forced another uneasy smile on her face and reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled toward the dance floor, leaving her swooning mother behind.

A slow, dreamy waltz had just begun, and Seras thought it suited her situation quite well. Regardless of how intimidating and quietly terrifying the Count was, he was undoubtedly the most gorgeous person she had ever seen. Michelangelo had to have used him as a muse. But despite the Count's overbearing beauty, there was still something sinister to him.

They floated across the dance floor to the beat of the music, and Seras inwardly thanked God that she was a talented dancer. The Count was graced in the art and elegantly led them around the floor, oftentimes catching the admiring eye of a neighboring couple. But when they were almost half way into the dance and had yet to speak a word to each other, Seras grew anxious.

That stupid smile had never left his face though, so she'd take it as a sign of amusement, and amusement was better than nothing. On that note Seras decided to take initiative. Any conversation would prove to be less awkward than this silence.

"If I may dare to ask," Seras began, trying not to flinch when she felt the full brunt of his attention, "what inspired My Lord to make my acquaintance?" She really was curious why he asked _her_ , of all the ladies at the ball, to dance.

The Count laughed, and Seras tensed. His smile matched his laugh.

"That old Duke was bothered that I hadn't danced yet this evening." The Count pulled Seras quite a bit too close to be proper before whispering to her as if it were some grave secret. Seras violently tried to restrain her blush – their faces were almost touching!

"So he _recommended_ I danced with one of the wallflowers." She didn't miss the sardonic smile, and flushed with indignation. "Of course I was afraid that dancing with a wallflower would equate to dancing with someone…less than applicable."

With an offended snort she tried to pull away, but gasped when she felt the hand on the side of her waist tighten to the point of pain. She glared, and he only smiled in return. He loosened his grip only when she relented.

"So he and I scoured the room for a partner. He pointed out you, the daughter of his most trusted attorney. And I must say, my dear," His lips were scandalously close to her ear, "you are quite applicable."

Seras' eyes widened. At that moment, with his strong hold on her hip, his cool breath on her cheek, the smooth darkness of his voice, how close they stood – it was all too much. She felt her knees shake slightly, and the Count tighten his hold to support her. When had he become so seductive? When had she unwittingly fallen under his spell?

Suddenly Seras had nothing to say, and they simply drifted through the waltz. His hold on her waist shifted, and the spell was broken. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Who did this man think he was? Titled or not, she was a respectable lady and did not deserve such treatment! Did he want to destroy her reputation and her family's prospects?

"How _dare_ you!" She hissed, drawing her face closer to his. His smile never faltered. Her grip on his hand tightened, and to her irritation his did as well.

"I am no questionable lady, sir, and I will not allow any mistreatment regardless of your status!" And what a breach of status it was. She should've stopped talking a long time ago, but something told her that this man wouldn't tattle on her; if anything he seemed to enjoy her spite.

"I never questioned your reputation, Miss." His tone was oh so smug. "I merely stated that I found you an applicable dance partner." Seras wondered if the tips of her ears were red from anger or embarrassment.

"It was the implication then!"

"And what, pray tell, did you imagine I implied?" Their faces were once again so scandalously close.

Seras had a sudden heightened awareness of the strong, almost possessive grip of his hand on her lower back and the fact that her hand had been completely enveloped in his. She dared to glance around the room and much to her relief found that they had swayed to the edge of the floor, away from the crowd and out of the spotlight.

Of course, that didn't mean that there wasn't a possibility of someone watching them.

She pulled away, blushing like mad, and risked a glance at his face. Her breath caught in her throat.

All traces of playfulness had been swallowed up by a fierce glare, and any softness in his features had hardened to steel. His glower was thankfully not directed toward her but something past her head. His grip seemed to unconsciously tighten. Seras felt him slowly pull her closer to his chest, as if getting ready to spirit her away at a moment's notice.

…she really had to stop reading her mother's romance novels.

"My Lord?" She didn't bother to hide the irritation and confusion in her tone. His eyes darted back to her, but he didn't lessen his hold in the slightest.

"I thank you for the most wonderful dance, Miss Victoria." He was smiling that devious smile again, but his eyes were hard and cold. The song ended, and though he let go of her waist he kept a tight hold on her hand. He lead her like a lamb off the dance floor and weaved through throngs of diamond-strung ladies and clouds of expensive perfume til her mother and father came in to sight. But before Seras could approach them, the Count _finally_ let go of her hand and quickly backpedalled to hover behind her.

"I look forward to making your acquaintance in the very near future _, Miss Victoria_." His lips grazed the shell of her ear before she spun around, only to find that he had already disappeared into the large crowd behind her. Seras narrowed her eyes. How strange. He certainly was a fast walker.

Seras took a deep breath and stood a little straighter as she walked to rejoin her parents. It was as if a cloud had lifted from over her head and she could finally breathe easy again.

"Oh, here she is!" Her mother was waving her over almost as soon as she caught sight of Seras to a small group. Her mother and father seemed to be speaking with quite peculiar people.

"Sir Hellsing, may I introduce you to my daughter, Seras Victoria?" A tall, intimidating towhead woman ( _in a pantsuit, of all things!_ ) regarded her with polite disinterest as she took a puff from an expensive cigar – a cigar that should've been confiscated by the floor manager, but hadn't. Undoubtedly she was a noble, and a high-ranking one at that if she could wear and do whatever she very well wanted to.

"Seras, may I introduce Sir Hellsing?" Mr. Victoria introduced them with a calm attorney smile. Seras stared at the woman, a little dumbstruck, before leaping in to action.

"I-it's an honor to meet you, Sir Hellsing!" And why a woman was being addressed as "sir" Seras didn't know, but knew better then to ask. The woman took another puff of her cigar before handing it to what looked like some sort of personal butler. To Seras' surprise, Sir Hellsing looked only a few years older than her.

"Likewise. And this," Sir Hellsing replied briskly, gesturing toward the butler, "is my retainer, Walter." The older man smiled at Seras and gave a little bow. When it was clear that Sir Hellsing wasn't going to say anything else, he quickly stepped forward to gesture toward her father.

"Your father recently defended our organization against fraudulent suits. He's a very talented man." Walter said, effectively explaining what Seras needed to know so Sir Hellsing wouldn't have to.

"You're too kind, sir." Mr. Victoria gave a good-natured chuckle. There was a slight lapse in the conversation.

"Your mother mentioned you met the Count?" Sir Hellsing asked, suddenly focusing her total attention on Seras. Seras felt like she was under a microscope; the aristocrat seemed to be searching her for something, but kept on coming up with a blank.

"Yes, I had the last dance with him." Seras replied, not sure what Sir Hellsing was leading up to. Usually when ladies asked each other these types of questions they were attempting to establish who they'd have to be competing against for a man's affections, but Seras highly doubted Sir Integra was interested in such things.

"Did you happen to see which direction he took afterward?" Seras felt like she was being interrogated. What did this noble want with the Count, anyway? From the looks she and Walter were giving her, you would think that the Count had killed someone! Creep or not, Seras would feel bad for him if she set these two on his tail.

"No, I'm afraid I didn't." Seras answered, fighting to keep Sir Hellsing's stare. The aristocrat's eyes were icy blue behind clear glasses that only magnified their depths. It made Seras feel like Sir Hellsing could see right through her lie. Oh god, she hoped not. She never wanted to get on the bad side of anyone like Sir Hellsing.

The woman exchanged a glance with her retainer before nodding.

"No matter." She said evenly, though even Seras could plainly see that it did matter. The noble took another puff of her cigar before resting it in Walter's waiting hand.

"It was pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Victoria, Mrs. Victoria. I'll have Walter call on your office should we have use of your services again." Sir Hellsing addressed them curtly with a stiff smile. She turned back to Seras once again. "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria."

Seras curtsied. "The pleasure was mine, Sir Hellsing." Seras wasn't sure if she would take offense to "m'lady."

"Thank you Sir Hellsing, Mr. Dornez. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball." Mr. Victoria said as he shook Sir Hellsing's and then Walter's hand, handling the goodbyes for the ladies of his family as they curtsied.

"I wish you the same." Sir Hellsing replied before she and Walter disappeared into the crowd, much like the Count had done not so long ago.

Unlike the Count, Seras was able to watch them go.

* * *

 **[A/N]**

Notes:

\- The _ton_ is a term commonly used to refer to Britain's high society during the Georgian and Victorian eras.

\- From highest ranking to lowest ranking, the social ladder was as follows: Monarch, Royalty, Aristocracy, Gentry, Middle Class, Artisans and Trades people, Servants, Laboring Poor, and Paupers.

\- At Victorian balls, ladies were given dance cards to fill with the names of gentlemen who they would dance a certain song with. The gentleman always had to make quite a show of asking the lady to dance, but if their introduction was proper the lady could never refuse no matter what the reason.

\- If a man wanted to dance with a lady he was a stranger to and had no mutual acquaintances to make introductions, he asked the floor manager to introduce him. If the lady was still young, he had to ask her chaperone for permission before asking the lady to dance.

So… hello! Due to some personal reasons that I'd rather not get in to, I felt it best to delete my stories over the winter. However, now I feel it's best that I put Civilities back up and complete it. I'm excited, as I'll be taking this opportunity to hopefully improve the story and get rid of the typos and plot holes that were in the original! I'm hoping this version will turn out better than the last.

Thank you to all of you who sent such kind PMs and emails when the story was first deleted. It's nice to know so many of you cared so much! It doesn't take me very long to revise, so you can expect a rather frequent update schedule (probably daily) until we reach chapter twelve, where we'll return to the every other Monday update schedule.

Please let me know what you think of the revised chapter!

Until next time!

Della


	2. abbito

Disclaimer: Well, I don't own _Hellsing_. If I did I probably wouldn't be writing fan fiction for it.

* * *

 **II.**

Seras decided to take to her bedroom for the remainder of the morning.

The family had arrived home from the Duke's ball in the wee hours of the morning. Under such circumstances they all took the liberty of sleeping in well past nine-thirty, the time of morning that - according to Mrs. Victoria - all successful people should be up and about by.

By that logic, Edith's suitors must have been very successful people indeed. When the family passed the foyer for the dining room for a late breakfast, it was found that no less than five bouquets had already been delivered by nine o'clock in the morning. Four more were dropped off within the hour.

To put it lightly, Mrs. Victoria had practically cried when she saw the family names of the boys who signed the cards. Seras hadn't really minded that; there was a smug enjoyment that came with watching your younger sibling go through the same tortures you did. And poor Edith, who hadn't even gotten to see her bouquets, let alone breakfast yet, was shrieked at by their mother to write "heartfelt" thank you notes to each gentleman " _right this minute_!" Seras had laughed, and Edith scowled very unladylike at her sister as they passed each other on the staircase. There hadn't been any addressed to Seras, not even from Mr. Thornsbury.

Seras had been well in to an especially delicious country breakfast with her parents when one of the house maids, Nora, entered the floral-wallpapered dining room.

"Something for Miss Seras, ma'am." How strange. Usually their meal times weren't allowed to be disrupted with deliveries. The middle-aged lady was cradling something small and delicate, wrapped in white silk and fastened by an opulent mother-of-pearl brooch. Her father raised an eyebrow at the gift's ostentatiousness.

Seras' eyes widened when the maid handed her the bundle. The brooch was absolutely exquisite and unquestionably worth more than any other jewelry piece she owned. The craftsmanship was superb and had been undoubtedly labored over by some dedicated, foreign artisan in some far away land. The breakfast table was silent as she gently unclasped the brooch from the silk and unveiled what lay beneath.

The discovery was surprisingly anticlimactic. In the package lay a single trimmed red rose at the peak of bloom, its glossy red petals softer than the silk it was presented in. Seras couldn't help but smile and blush all the same.

"Is there a note or a name?" Mr. Victoria was deceptively calm as he eyed the pearl brooch with skepticism. Judging from the soft hue and lack of shine, it was real, and probably worth as much as their family's carriage.

"No, none that I can see…" Seras gently lifted the flower from its folds, delicately tracing her fingers over the petals. She couldn't help it; she was touched by the gesture. It was so traditionally romantic, Shakespearian. She smiled to herself and lifted it to her nose, enjoying its fragrance.

Just as she was about to give it to the maid to put in water, a certain sparkle from inside the rose caught her eye. Her parents watched in searching silence as she dipped her fingers into the petals and pulled out a shining ruby crystal hanging on a sterling silver chain. There was a pregnant pause before-

" _Is that a necklace?"_

"Seras, _is there a name_?"

After further investigation and interrogation of the servant who had answered the door it was found that no note had been sent with the gift, but that a well-dressed stranger with an accent and peculiar walking stick had delivered it. Seras' throat dried when she heard as much.

At that point Mrs. Victoria hadn't known what to do: gloat, swoon, cry, die? Mr. Victoria simply returned to his breakfast with a thoughtful, solemn expression only a father can possess. When she found out after she finished her thank you notes, Edith had demanded to see the necklace and then squealed in excitement. And Seras?

Well, she wasn't quite sure what to think.

For one thing, there was always a possibility that it hadn't been Count Dracul. Many Englishmen hired foreigners as domestic servants, so a stranger with an accent didn't do much to narrow the field. But then how many domestic servants had Eastern European accents and expensive walking sticks…? Seras groaned. Plenty! There had to be plenty!

And it wasn't as if he had especially enjoyed her company last night, right? From _sniffing her_ , to making close to inappropriate comments, glowering at someone in the middle of their dance, and then not even bothering to escort her back to her family, he hadn't given her the proper civilities a lady deserved. He obviously hadn't been too concerned with making a good impression on her. However he was a foreigner, so perhaps it was just a cultural difference?

Yes, because smelling your partner before your dance was _so_ internationally acceptable…

Seras sighed. She didn't know what to think about the whole ordeal. Yes, he could've possibly scandalized her, but to her confusion a part of her really wouldn't have minded. A smaller, more subconscious part of her wished he had. Regardless of his peculiarities, she couldn't continue to deny that she was attracted to him. With his long black, shining hair and smooth, soft lips...

Seras blushed and buried her flushed face in her hands. If she continued to think of him in such a way she'd die of embarrassment the next time they met! And Seras presumed that they would be meeting again very soon. If the Count had really taken the time to hand-deliver her flower then he was certainly interested in at least seeing her again despite the awful impression he made on her the night before.

And if she dared allow her imagination to wander, she supposed that he was interested in a little bit more, too.

Seras sat up from her bed, glancing at the opulent necklace resting on top of her jewelry box. It looked out of place on top of the simple, varnished wood box. She sighed and crossed the room to lay the crystal between her fingers. Even if the Count was strange, she'd still appreciated the thought... and his good taste in jewelry. She slipped the necklace on and turned to her mirror, smiling at the glimmer of the crystal in sunlight.

Who ever said blondes couldn't pull off red?

Seras cringed when she heard a rather loud argument from downstairs, followed by footsteps pounding up and down the hall. In one morning the Victoria household had gone from serene to overzealous. She knew her father had retired to his study not too long ago to attend to some business matters from the firm, so Seras could only assume the argument had been between her mother and Edith. She _thought_ she heard the word "rouge" yelled once or twice.

Nevertheless, Seras decided that she had mulled over this morning's events long enough. She had several things to do, and not enough time to finish them. With her cotton sunbonnet in hand, Seras stuck her head out her bedroom door only to stop when she heard a light pair of feet pitter-patter by.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Seras called. Elizabeth was Seras' favorite servant. Blessed with a wicked sense of humor and the ability to hold her tongue when it came to the sisters' misadventures, at the age of thirty-five, Elizabeth had earned her slot in the Victoria household.

"Yes, Miss Seras?" Of course they were still separated by rank, and their friendship would never progress outside of witty conversation and polite smiles. It was simply not allowed.

"Would you be so kind as to arrange a carriage to the library?" It was a Sunday, her father had nowhere to be, and she wanted to go to the library of all places. In this case, he would look the other way.

"Of course, Miss. I will alert the driver."

"Thank you." She said as she tied the silky ribbons of her bonnet into a neat bow. Seras had just made her way to the staircase when Edith seemingly appeared out of nowhere, curls set and elegant pastel green bonnet tied no less.

"Oh, where are you off to?" Edith asked, eyeing Seras' bonnet and bustled silvery gray gown with a sly smile. Aside fro the Count's necklace, it was a rather simple and plain outfit.

Edith reached out and tugged on the crystal playfully. "Going out to find and steal my prince away, are you?"

Seras scoffed as she teasingly pushed Edith out of the way. "I think not!" Edith followed on her heels down the mahogany staircase.

"Well, if not to track down your royal suitor," Seras rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves, "where are you going?"

"I'm to spend the afternoon at the library."

"Again with those dusty books?" Edith clucked her tongue and shook her head, leftover curls from the night before falling into her face. Her smile wasn't very friendly. "If you're so interested in reading, why not join the Ladies' Book Club? Honestly Seras, I would've thought you'd given u-" Edith quickly bit her tongue. Seras stared at her sister, taken aback. She hadn't had to finish her thought for it to still be a punch in the face.

The former atmosphere was shattered and replaced by a cooler, tenser one. All was silent in the reception hall except for the steady counting of the grandfather clock.

"I apologize, Seras." Edith finally said, diverting her gaze from her sister. But she didn't retract her almost admittance.

"You're forgiven." Edith was still her sister. In her heart, she hadn't meant anything by it, right?

There was another pause before:

"So, the library then?"

"Yes."

Edith shuffled her feet before finally looking at Seras again. "Well, mother forgot to bring some flowers to Father the other day at mass, so she gifted me with the oh so exciting task. Perhaps after I deliver them, I could join you?" It was Edith's way of reconciling. Seras, though still a bit stung, nodded. She really had to learn not to be so sensitive.

"Yes, I'd like that." She said as she stepped out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.

Regardless of the opinions Edith or anyone else held, Seras had work to do.

Edith's shoulders sagged once Seras closed the front door. She should've been more sensitive to her sister's feelings – it was a touchy subject, after all. Seras was always so sensitive about it after their mother took it upon herself to discourage Seras from it when she first debuted.

Discourage was, of course, a euphemism for the barrage of insults, insinuations, guilt, and accusations Seras was made to suffer through all those years. Now that Edith was the newest and prettiest lady-of-age in the family, their mother had focused her attention less on Seras. There was finally a small opening for her to pursue it again, albeit quietly.

Edith wanted to smack her head against the wall. What a blow it must have been to be discouraged by your own sister! How terrible it must have felt! But in her defense, it wasn't Edith's fault that Seras aspired to be a policewoman, of all things.

When Seras had announced her supposed dream at the tender age of fourteen, Edith remembered Mr. Victoria only smiling and giving her his blessing in "whichever path she chose to pursue." She remembered their mother's strained laugh and declaration of how silly young ladies' imaginations were. Only it wasn't her imagination, and Seras' determination only grew stronger until she turned seventeen.

Edith should've been happy that Seras was finally pursuing her dream once again. It meant that her sister had finally found herself again. And it also meant that Edith might've well spit in her sister's face when she practically said that nothing would come of it.

Edith sighed as she slid her own gloves on.

Well… she was right. Nothing would be coming of it. A female detective? Who had ever heard of such nonsense? Besides, it _was_ time that Seras learned to face to reality and put such petty things behind her; she hadn't found a husband in two seasons, and if she didn't find one this season she would be deemed a failure. There was no bigger disgrace for a lady, and their family could not afford anything of the kind.

However, it seemed that Seras had found something with that Wallachian noble, of all people. Come to think of it, hadn't she been wearing the crystal he supposedly gave to her?

Edith gathered the flowers to her bosom with a sharp frown, forgetting to thank Nora for holding the door open for her as she left the household. Edith herself had disregarded the necklace until after the fact, so hopefully it wasn't too noticeable. During the Season it was not in good taste to wear jewelery before evening time, yet Seras just had to go and…

How awful it was that she, the younger sister, better understood civilities than the elder.

And to wear a piece of jewelry that was just given to you by a potential suitor! It was too forward! What was Seras thinking? Edith was past the envy that had sprung with the news that her sister had been _the only lady at the ball_ that her mysterious prince had danced with. It wouldn't even matter if Seras had managed to grab the Count as a suitor, because at this rate she was going to shame herself if she disregarded any more social graces!

Edith couldn't stop grumbling to herself all the two blocks to the church. Stupid Seras, running around and almost tarnishing their reputations. The Victorias were already Catholic! That was already one strike against them, and they didn't need any more.

St. Peter the Apostle Church wasn't beloved to most of London, but as a Catholic church no one had expected that much anyway. The fact that it incorporated gothic French architecture to its exterior and an Irish priest to its interior didn't help matters either, but for whatever reason the parish was usually left alone even when the occasional anti-Catholic riot sprang up.

The church seemed to be empty at first glance, which didn't bother Edith in the slightest. The faster she could get to Seras to apologize, the better. But then after a second look, Edith spotted her priest in one of the front most pews engaged in a very lively conversation with a very strange woman. She blanched and took a step back towards the door. Perhaps Father was having an affair with the woman and she had inadvertently walked in on a lovers' spat? Oh, how embarrassing!

But it was better to make her presence known now than later, lest she be accused of eavesdropping. That was just shameful.

But Father Anderson nor the woman he was yelling – er, _debating_ with seemed to notice her presence. Tid-bits of their conversation, which had once been echoes, began to ring clearer with each step closer.

"-don't believe in coincidences, especially when he's involved."

"Ye heathens have always been so quick to judge and today 'tis no exception! Have ye even any evidence before ye gather torches?"

"Numbers don't lie, and autopsies never do. Facts are facts whether you choose to admit them or not, Judas Priest." Edith blinked at the insult. How rude, especially in a church of all places.

It didn't quite seem the type of conversation a member of the clergy should be engaging in. And since when had Father Anderson become so aggressive and – not to mention – frightening? Edith felt extremely uncomfortable. This conversation was most definitely not meant for her ears, and she really wished that they would notice her already. She stood a few pews back and tried to clear her throat as lady-like as possible, but to no avail.

"Ye still don't know for certain whether the man is the cause! Ye cannot damn a man because ye want to!"

"Oh, for Christ'ssake!" The tall, towheaded woman that Father Anderson was arguing with suddenly leapt from her seat, arms raised in extreme exasperation. "When a damn _Count of Wallachia_ named _Vlad,_ of all things, comes to London and we see such a rise in numbers what other logical reason is there? _He's back_ , damn you!"

Edith couldn't hold back her gasp. They were talking about the Count! Had he committed a crime? Had he hurt someone? What were they talking about?

Father Anderson jumped from his seat as well. "Never use such obscenities in the place of God, ye filthy Protestant whore!" He literally _bellowed_ as he raised his fist. Edith's breath caught in her throat. She was not about to give witness to her priest striking a woman!

"Father Anderson!" Edith squeaked, holding the flowers out in front of her in a meager attempt to create a barrier. Both people, including the startling woman in the pantsuit, jumped to face her. She cringed as she felt the remnants of their anger misdirected toward her.

However, at the realization that it was just one of his faithful parishioners, Father Anderson quickly dropped his hand and exited the finely carved pew to stand in the aisle in front of Edith.

"Ah Miss Victoria, I apologize for the display… such a bad temper, right lass?" He said, clasping his hands together. Edith couldn't help but notice how tightly he held them together. His knuckles were turning white. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Edith locked her elbows and managed to hold the flowers out a bit further. "My mother apologizes for failing to deliver these last Thursday." She said, trying to hide the quaver from her voice. The other woman regarded her with cold, analytical eyes.

Father Anderson nodded. "O'course, I thank ye." The flowers exchanged hands, and suddenly they were standing there in silence.

"Well, I… shall see you at mass, Father." Edith said with a forced, anxious smile and a small curtsy. She turned and curtsied to the woman as well, because God only knew what she would do if Edith snubbed her. It was when Edith had turned, gotten halfway down the aisle, and was close enough to the door to believe she was free that the woman finally addressed her.

"Miss Victoria," The woman's voice was powerful and echoed in the church. Edith stopped. "Do you happen to have any relation to a Miss Seras Victoria?" Edith stiffened. How did this woman know her sister? It was clear that their previous conversation had undoubtedly been about the Count.

"Yes, she is my sister." Edith turned to face her, but didn't cross the gap between them. The woman took care of that for her. Her footsteps were heavy and masculine.

"And what is her relation to the Count?" The woman stood facing her with a fierce frown and harsh body language. Edith fidgeted.

"She-she… nothing's been made official, but he sent her jewelry this morning…" Edith said warily. The woman's eyes widened, displaying a short lapse in façade. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that.

"But…" The woman murmured to herself, lost in thought. Edith stared at her. Father Anderson suddenly appeared behind the woman, flowers still in hand.

"This is Sir Integra Fairbrooks Wingate Hellsing, Miss Victoria. She's a Protestant." He chewed on the word "protestant" like it was some sort of rubber, disgusting and oh so hard to pull out of your teeth. His face was so restrained, and his expression was lost somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

"It's nice to meet you, My Lady."

"You may address me as Sir." Edith blinked and nodded. Well, that had been to the point.

"Miss Victoria, it would do your sister well to be on her guard and reject the Count's advances for her own safety. We expect him to be involved with numerous unseemly activities."

Edith was silent.

"And I would also advise her not to allow him knowledge of her newfound enlightenment. Do _not_ put your trust in him." Integra's voice was unwavering, totally convinced of her opinion. Edith was afraid to ask why. "And if you should find yourself in any particular situations with him that may need to involve… a third party, you may find access to myself and my organization at this address." Sir Hellsing had pulled a pencil out of one of her trouser pockets and grabbed a hymnal out of one of the pews. With blatant disregard, Sir Hellsing quickly tore the forward out of it, and Edith didn't miss that faint smirk that appeared when a flicker – ahem, tremor - of irritation spread across Father Anderson's face.

"'tis not to scare you. 'tis better to be safe than sorry." Father Anderson cut in, effectively ruining the dramatic silence that had dominated after Sir Hellsing's speech and spectacle.

Sir Hellsing elegantly sneered (Edith hadn't known such was possible) in response. The tension was practically crackling between them, and Edith decided that it was probably a good time to take her leave. So she took a step back, quickly said her goodbyes, and hustled out of the church only to hear their argument return full-throttle as she opened the ornate church doors.

" _Do you dare still doubt me_ , you blasphemous-"

Edith was only too thankful to have torn herself from the conversation when she had.

But Edith couldn't decide whether to forget what had happened, or to commit it to memory. She wasn't yet sure which action would come back to bite her.

She hurried down the long stone staircase, feeling the gargoyles' stare on her back and Sir Hellsing's note weighing heavy in her hand.

* * *

The library seemed to have gotten dustier in her absence. But then it wasn't as if Seras had any part in its maintenance, so it really wasn't her place to stay; but she had come here so often during the winter months, how could she not?

Seras waved to the friendly librarian as she padded across the oiled wood floors, heading straight toward her favorite old reading nook in the left back corner. Her eyes lit up when she saw the practical lacquered table with its comfortable cushioned chairs and cracked reading lamp peeking from behind tall bookcases and a wooden cart of uncategorized literature.

Since the beginning of the Season this year Seras had had virtually no leisure time, and thus no time for library excursions. Mornings were usually spent riding down Rotten Row* with Edith and her too-well-off friends, afternoons were put aside for calling on friends and important acquaintances, and after dinner hours were of course reserved for the few _ton_ events the Victorias were invited to. There had been an increase of invitations ever since Edith's debut at Court, surprise surprise, and the family had been busy ever since.

Well, it hadn't exactly been much of a surprise, but you were supposed to act like it was.

Seras took several minutes to comb over the dusty aisles for the books she had last been working over before settling down at her table, turning on the cracked reading lamp with a cheerful click. She was going to apply to the Metropolitan Police and she was going to pass their exam with flying colors if it was the last thing she did. She would have to pass with a near perfect score if the Academy was going to even remotely take her seriously as a candidate. Now, if only Alexander Bain had worded his text without creating a new term ever other line…

 _It was back._

Her body sensed it before her mind. Suddenly her pulse had picked up, she was sitting ramrod straight, and could not move. Perhaps if she stayed still, her body reasoned, then perhaps it would go away. Perhaps it would forget and move on. But her mind knew better. Her mind understood that the game had only just begun.

Slowly, Seras turned in her chair and looked up, her face caressed by shadow.

"What a surprise, Miss Victoria." The Count had arrived, and he sounded everything but surprised.


	3. revelabis

Disclaimer: Hey guys! I don't own Hellsing! :) (Just in case that wasn't obvious)

* * *

 **III.**

It took Seras a moment to process that the one person she'd been mulling the morning over was literally looming over her. He stood so close to the back of her chair that she actually had to crane her head back to catch a glimpse of his face, darkly tinted eyeglasses and all. A faint hint of musky pine and… something else drifted off of him. She couldn't place it but it was so familiar… it was on the tip of her tongue…

He gently laid his hand on her shoulder and paced to her right side, glancing over the textbooks with irritatingly amused interest. Once again, they were so close. Too close.

"This isn't the average reading material for a lady, Miss Victoria." He said as he casually thumbed through her copy of _An Analysis of a Criminal Philosophy.*_ Seras couldn't help but be irritated that he had lost her page.

Seras stared at the Count for a moment in a sort of dumbstruck surprise at the lack of formal greetings. He was supposed royalty, and he was walking around old libraries unannounced and disregarding formalities? She hadn't even risen at his arrival, let alone adress him!

Seras practically tumbled out of her chair and took a few – many – steps back from the table and the Count, who still had his hand in her book and his eyes on her. The eyes that she still couldn't meet, couldn't even see.

And oh lord, oh _no_ , they were alone.

By being so generous as to give her jewelry, although rather forward, he had made his intentions quite clear. Seras' eyes narrowed for a moment. She had already told him once that she was a respectable lady that would not allow herself to be trifled with, yet here she was foolishly wearing his gift. Perhaps it would be best to politely address the Count and then take herself out of what could become a rather scandalous situation.

"Good Morning, My Lord." Seras curtsied demurely, making sure to keep her eyes on the floor. Her family couldn't afford a scandal, not while Edith had yet to be married.

"Morning? It's half past one in the afternoon." The Count drawled as he slowly stretched in to Seras' discarded chair. He liked to take his time, slowly relaxing each and every long, defined limb with masculine ease.

Oh, God, she had to stop before she started blushing.

She hoped that she hadn't already. She could feel his eyes on her, absorbing her every move. It wasn't fair that he had the advantage of hiding his eyes, such an incriminating component of body language, and she didn't. She was certain he could read her like an open book. She was certain he knew she was attracted to him – she was wearing his necklace, for goodness' sake.

…speaking of which, it'd probably be best to thank him for that before she ran away.

She held her hands at her waist, but didn't avert her eyes. She had always been told that forward men like him were not gentlemen; men like him were dangerous. She had to be assertive in this situation. After all, if she couldn't get a spoiled noble like him off her back, how did she ever expect to reprimand criminals? The question gave her strength, made her remember her determination and let her find her voice.

"I've seemed to have lost track of time." Seras was happy to find her voice so steady. "If it is truly so late, then I must beg leave, My Lord, to see that I pay my respects this afternoon." Yes, very good. Now all she had to do was thank him and she'd be on her way.

"And with whom are you to visit?" The Count spoke suddenly, his smile turned cruel and mocking. "Soft-spoken harpies whom you despise but are obligated not to? Women who barely have the capacity to think of things beside dresses and balls, men and jewelry?"

Seras was quiet, because yes, that was what she had been planning to do. It was what she was expected to do, it was her duty, and it was what she had been doing during the Season for the past two years. It had gotten her this far… not that she particularly enjoyed it. In fact, Seras hated it, but she couldn't let him know that. She had to be leaving, anyway.

The Count sat quietly with chin in hand, watching her with a certain spark in his eye. Her mouth went dry, and although she wanted nothing more than to get away, she also couldn't bear to leave their conversation on such a note. She couldn't bear him thinking her weak, like all the other society girls.

"I never said I enjoyed it." Seras' voice was quiet, but strong. The Count sat up, a sort of smile that she couldn't identify on his face.

"No indeed, and yet we both know that this afternoon, that is where you shall be. Just like all afternoons past." She hated the way he said it. It made her feel ashamed of the monotonous, passive life she had lead so far.

"And what choice do I have in the matter, my Lord?" Seras took a step forward, her voice lightly laced with a certain degree of defiance. "To defy social customs is to invite excommunication, which opens a door to a new townhouse among the laborers." She was at the opposite side the table now and pulled back a chair in one swipe, much to the Count's amusement. Seras flopped down into the creaky old seat and reached across to grab her theoretic psychology text out of the Count's grasp. He only smiled. All he ever did was smile that awful, creepy smile.

"I do not believe the laboring poor can afford townhomes." He was teasing her again. This time she didn't hesitate to outright glare at him.

"And how would you ever suspect to know? You're a Count, a prince. I doubt you've dealt with any situation worse than having to call for a forgotten fireplace to be lit." And from the sudden deep, terrifying frown that appeared on the Count's face, Seras guessed that she had finally fallen out of favor.

"One should not speak of things one knows little of." His voice was cold enough to cause the temperature to plummet a few degrees. Seras physically shivered – and had it suddenly gotten darker? The shadows from the bookshelves seemed longer than they had been a moment ago, and never had that unlit fireplace looked so foreboding. The cracked little old lamp flickered. Yes, Seras had officially fallen from grace, and it was time to make her escape. She slowly closed her textbook.

"So Miss Victoria, please do me the favor of explaining your interest in such material." He asked as soon as she had closed her book and made to get up.

Seras stared at him for a long moment. The Count had reverted right back to normal as if nothing had ever happened. Seras wasn't certain whether to be relieved or unsettled.

"Its purpose serves to prepare for the written exam for the Metropolitan Police Force." Seras finally spoke with a little piece of quiet pride. Usually she would never dare tell anyone such a thing, as she knew almost no one would accept her for it. Her mother had abused her for it, and her sister had laughed at the very idea. However, the Count was so strange, perhaps he would hold a different opinion.

It was very probable that he wouldn't, but Seras was getting a little desperate for some sort of encouragement. It was hard trying to achieve your dreams when you were constantly being berated for them.

The Count was quiet for a long moment. And then he laughed.

The Count laughed so hard that a bit of color appeared over his pallid complexion, and he had to grip the side of his stomach. He leaned forward in his chair and swung his walking stick over his lap, finally finishing the outburst with a slow series of chuckles. He looked up at her, his eyes still hidden by those damn eyeglasses. Seras was so affronted that she was speechless.

"Laugh all you want." She snipped tersely once she had regained her composure. She refused to acknowledge the tears beginning to sting her eyes. "One day my name will be listed on the registrar." It would be. She see to make it so.

The Count regarded her with another bemused smile. "You are a surprising lady, Miss Victoria… although, I doubt one who is a police girl can be deemed a lady."

"I can be both, Count." Seras tried to sound stern as she flipped back open to her page and picked up from where she left off. Like hell she was leaving now. She had work to do, and she wasn't going to be scared away by some spoiled noble who disregarded her so casually! _He_ could be the one to leave! So she went back in to the text, trying her best to ignore his existence.

She had just gotten through three long, drawn-out pages when he chose to speak again.

"No, Miss Victoria, you cannot." Her head snapped up from the book in surprise. This time was no teasing smirk, no playful ire to his smile. His lips were tilted in to a solemn frown and his hands were folded on the table as if they were in the midst of discussing some battle strategy or coup d'état.

"Excuse me?" She just couldn't really get over the fact that he rebuked her statement from _ten minutes ago_.

"One cannot be a respectable lady and a police woman, Miss Victoria, unless the position of inspector prescribes for baking, sewing, drawing, reading, and other womanly affairs. Such a life deals with the underbelly of rotten society – it will chew you up, spit you out, and let you rot in your cynicism and broken ideals." He leaned a little further over the table, and Seras unconsciously mimicked his movements.

"A true 'lady' could never survive in such an environment, and it would be morally apprehensible to subject her to it." He was finished speaking but Seras felt as if he still had more to say; or, perhaps she just wanted to hear him say more.

Seras avoided his gaze for a moment before realizing just how stupid she was acting. Here she was, determinedly studying for her exam, only to be put out by some man she just met? He wasn't even from England! Count or no count, what did he know? Seras met his gaze once again.

He knew nothing!

"Those who are not willing to sacrifice everything will never change anything. And if I don't do something to introduce a change for tomorrow, who will?" Seras flipped the page of her book, her eyes darting back and forth from his gaze to the text. She still had work to do.

"So then you're willing to become a martyr, Miss Victoria?" He smirked, but Seras could tell it was an attempt to cover something else up. "How noble… how idealistic. How interesting, how _unique_ …" He murmured. She jolted up when she heard the shriek of his chair pushed back, and her heartbeat increased as he started to walk toward her side of the table. He now had her full attention.

"But do you really think they'll let a woman _, a woman like you_ , on the force? Someone so soft and blonde, so innocent and sweet… it would be a crime, they'd say, to put you in harm's way." He was taking his precious time and was only half way around the table.

"And it wouldn't matter if you scored highest on the written and physical exams, my dear Police Girl, because they'd say a man would naturally be better adept than a woman anyway. A woman would faint at the sight of blood, and a woman would be too afraid to confront criminals and convicts. A woman could never handle such a life, Police Girl." He was next to her now, though not as close as before, and her body responded with the same fight-or-flight reaction like it had back then.

She chose to fight.

"Then… I'll make them change! I will not allow them to define me! I will not allow them to decide my life based on preconceived prejudices!" She stood. The Count leaned on the table, observing her with that same small, searching smile that she couldn't trust.

"Change is not always within your power, Police Girl. There are some things in this world that are meant to be decided for us." The way he said it sent shivers down her spine. It was some sort of heavily veiled and disguised threat, but about what she couldn't imagine. But what she did know was that it was a good time to leave when threats were being handed out.

She began to stack the textbooks and he stood from the table, making his way to the fireplace to start a fire. Her gaze couldn't help but follow his elegant, masculine form as it slid across the room, allowing an ample display of his lower half when he-

"Seras dear!"

Seras was snapped out of her embarrassing daydream at the sound of Edith's voice. If she didn't know better, Seras swore she heard something like a hiss or a sigh coming from the direction of the Count. But that was silly – the count was supposedly a gentleman, after all.

"Oh, Edith!" Seras stood abruptly to greet her sister with a flustered smile. And then she realized just how much trouble she was in by the flabbergasted look on her sister's face.

Edith's eyes darted from Seras to the Count, who was still slinking around by the new fire, and then back to Seras. There were a lot of questions that demanded immediate answers, but weren't meant to be voiced outside the safety of their childhood bedrooms. For the present they simply had to pretend like nothing was the matter, even though Seras could read Edith's disapproval like an open book.

And it wasn't as if it was wrong of her to disapprove. Had anyone else caught sight of her and the Count alone in a private, hidden away corner of the library… well, the rumors certainly wouldn't have done wonders for either of their reputations.

The room was awkwardly quiet. The Count was still by the fireplace, leaning against the wall like he owned the place. And perhaps, Seras mused, he did. You never really knew what went on among all those "foreign investments." He seemed to be watching their exchange, but one could never be totally certain because of those eyeglasses, and for once he wasn't smiling. He was scarily impassive.

Seras coughed lightly, gaining Edith and the Count's attention, and smiled sheepishly.

"I hope you'll both forgive me, for I fear I can be a tad slow at times." She tried to laugh lightly, tried to pretend like there suddenly wasn't such an awful, tense atmosphere between the three of them.

"Miss Edith Victoria, may I introduce you to Count Dracul of Wallachia?" Seras took her sister's hand and led her to where the Count was situated. She noticed with a tad of dismay that he didn't extend his hand right away. Seras didn't appreciate the thought of him trying to snub her sister, but quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. She was probably exaggerating.

"My Lord, may I introduce you to Miss Edith Victoria?" Seras chirped, breathing a sigh of relief when he took her sister's hand and bent over to kiss the top of it ( _without_ , Seras noticed, smelling her wrist.)

But then when he straightened… well, Seras thought that he didn't seem too happy. While she certainly wasn't acquainted well enough with the Count to gauge his emotions and reactions, this one was certainly _off_.

His expression was stony, listless at best. He offered Edith no witty banter to exchange, no polite small talk. Seras shifted uncomfortably.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Count Dracul." And there was something off about Edith as well. Last night she had practically arranged a manhunt to find the very man in front of her but now seemed rather uncertain, standoffish even.

The Count merely nodded in response, taking a few steps back to stand next to Seras again. If Edith was offended by the Count's less than exuberant response, she didn't show it.

She held back a shiver when their arms brushed – god, she wasn't some quivering schoolgirl. She should not be so affected by a man… he was just a man, after all. There were plenty enough of them out there. Seras bit her lip as silence once again reigned free. Was she expected to make conversation now?

"Unfortunately My Lord, I must beg our leave of you. We are expected home shortly." Seras blinked. She hadn't even gotten through a chapter in one of her texts, and Seras knew that at least she wasn't due back until well into the afternoon. Was the carriage even here yet?

"Edith," Seras started. She really needed to get some reading done, and she couldn't very well take the texts home for fear of her mother discovering them. Unfortunately for Seras, Edith couldn't have cared less.

"Our greatest of apologies, My Lord." Edith said with another deep curtsey, although Seras could tell she really wasn't sorry. But why? Why so eager to get away from- Seras bit back a hiss when Edith grabbed her hand with a harsh pinch as she tried to pull her away.

Oh, right. Potential scandal caused by being alone with an influential, much older and probably much more experienced suitor.

"You cannot leave now." Seras watched Edith stiffen at the Count's blatant command. Slowly, both sisters turned to a less than happy nobleman.

"I beg-"

"The storm has just begun, and what of your carriage? Are you truly certain of it being right outside for your disposal? Your father is a busy man who cannot afford to have his daughters running about the town."

"I believe it to be waiting outside, or at least close to arriving, My Lord." Edith responded with what Seras could tell was a forced smile. Seras pulled her hand of her sister's.

The Count raised a brow without a smile, and knocked his wolf-headed walking stick on the floor with an air of finality. "Well then, shall we assure you ladies do not ruin your hems in the rain and see if Miss Edith is correct?" He remarked snidely as he glided by the two and disappeared around one of the tall bookcases.

The sisters watched the space for a moment in stunned silence before following after, one curious and one reluctant. They chose to ignore the comment about their hems – he was, after all, a noble. Seras yipped when Edith grabbed her wrist from behind, forcefully pulling her back to walk at her side.

"Seras, just _what have_ _you been doing_?" Edith hissed into her ear, her voice more frantic and fearful than Seras had expected it to be. She had thought Edith would've been angry as opposed to afraid.

Seras eyed Edith with uncertainty. "I was studying, sister. That's all." Edith gave her an unnerving stare.

"And he?"

"He… joined me after I settled in."

" _Seras!_ "

"Edith, I swear to you that nothing happened!" Seras furiously whispered, feeling her face flush at the accusation. "I-I made to leave, but he spoke of things that I could not in good conscience leave without challenging!"

Edith practically groaned, the stark opposite of ladylike behavior. Seras couldn't help but stare at the display. Come to think of it, Edith was nothing like her usual self. Her cheeks were flushed and her complexion was blotchy at best. Worst of all, her hems with flecked with spots of mud, and her curls were windblown and spiked with frizz. "Seras, you allow your stubbornness to guide you too often! Imagine what hecould have done!"

Seras didn't say anything more. Something was very, very off. Edith was not acting herself. And Seras didn't want to say that something was _wrong_ , because so far nothing was and God forbid fate should decide to change that for her. But Edith was never like this… she was too afraid of being seen and slighted for a lack of composure, afraid of giving anyone something to use against her.

It was a good thing Seras believed in free will rather than fate.

The Count was already standing by the doorway when the sisters arrived and cast rather impatient glances out one of the large windows, where large raindrops began to beat against the glass. For Seras, today's experience with the Count had equivocated to meeting an entirely different man from the ball.

Well, the more she thought about the night previous, the more obvious some of his peculiarities became. His irritation, his impatience, his arrogance, his oddity… all were quickly coming to light. Seras wasn't sure if she wanted a suitor like him, just another man who believed that by marrying her she suddenly became his property whether she liked it or not. Did he really think that she was fickle-minded enough to fall in love with him because he gave her pretty, shiny things?

She looked down at the crystal hanging at her neck in all its glory and scowled to herself.

"Do you find fault with it?" She looked up, caught off guard. The Count had apparently pulled himself out of his reverie just in time to witness her making faces at the undoubtedly priceless crystal necklace he had graciously gifted her with.

Wow Seras, way to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Oh," Seras blushed in embarrassment, "no! I.. It's… You were the one to give it to me, then?'

"Obviously." Again, he hadn't been _this_ rude last night.

"T-thank you." She was trying not to be intimidated by his dark expression (which was perfectly back dropped by the ongoing thunderstorm), but found herself failing to do so. Badly.

"You dislike it." Why were all the nobles she had met recently so blunt?

" _No_!" Seras quickly bit back, taking a step forward. Surprised by her own sudden brashness, Seras's blush darkened and she stepped back next to Edith. "No, what I meant was that… that…"

He might as well have just started tapping his foot impatiently on floor with the peevish look he was giving her.

"The necklace and the pin were both very beautiful. But I don't deserve…" She paused, not wanting to belittle herself, "…don't need such flattery. You needn't spend such excess on one such as me." Hopefully that was acceptable enough and he wouldn't take offense, but you could never be sure about the aristocracy when ego came in to play.

For a moment, Edith thought the Count was surprised by her sister's words. But any lingering traces of astonishment were quickly paved over by a small, overly amused and almost satisfied smile.

"Such trinkets matter little to me when I have so many, Miss Victoria. Consider them a gift for allowing one such as myself the pleasure of your company last night." His wording and ill-hidden innuendo made her tongue go dry, and for a moment she could only nod before she could gather her wits about her. Good lord, she had to get a hold of herself! What was wrong with her? She had never had so much trouble interacting with a man before!

But wait… if it had only been a gift, did that mean he didn't intend to court her? She relaxed slightly at the thought while another part of her simultaneously crumpled in disappointment. Seras decided not to address that thought process at the moment.

"Speaking of company…" the Count said as he turned back to the window, just in time to see a sparkling new black carriage lead by two thoroughbred Friesians stop in front of the library. "My coach has arrived. Might I offer assistance to such fine young ladies? It would kill the gentleman inside of me to leave you here, alone and waiting for your carriage in the cold rain." He had decide to switch back to the persona Seras had familiarized herself with last night, right down to the satirical smile and cock of the head.

Seras and Edith exchanged glances. It wasn't as if they weren't going to be standing in the library, watching for their father's older coach from the window.

"Thank you for your concern, My Lord," Edith began, "but I'm afraid our coach will be expecting us. With great regret we must decline your offer." She offered a sorry smile. The Count didn't seem put out in the least.

"Oh come now Miss Victoria, are you really going to deny me, the Lord of Wallachia?" He slowly walked away from the window, his footsteps clicking on the faded wood flooring. "You would greatly offend me and leave me with a horrid impression of Englishmen." Edith's expression faltered slightly.

"It is not proper. We are respectable ladies, and respectable ladies do not ride unattended in closed carriages with men."

"Wonderful! We are in agreement. By the prescience of both sisters neither one is unattended, and have no reason to worry because they will not be accompanied by a man, but a gentleman." His smile was cunning and malicious, all too aware of the trap he had set. He confidently strode forward to take each sister's arm in one of his own and pulled them toward the door.

Edith shuddered as a drop of cold sweat fall down her back. Seras' heart rate had somehow gone up another notch at his very touch. They were trapped, and all three of them knew it.

* * *

The carriage ride hadn't been as bad as Edith had predicted… but then, she had mentally prepared herself for the worst. Traffic was light – as could be predicted for a Sunday – and the supposed criminal hadn't assaulted or attacked them the minute he pulled the door closed. In fact, he hadn't even paid much attention to her at all and chose to focus much of the conversation on Seras, much to her own relief and unease.

But Sir Hellsing's words floated through her mind every time Seras answered one of the Count's questions, though to be fair all of them were relatively innocent. What was her favorite flower? Who were her friends? When was her birth date? Where was she born?

A majority of the ride was spent discussing some new, thick, Russian book Edith had never found the interest or time to read: _Peace and War_ , _War and Peace_ , whatever it was called.

They liked to debate justice and fairness. The Count's less than merciful views made her feel uncomfortable, and from her sister's reactions, Seras shared in her misgivings. But that didn't stop her from occasionally giggling and flirting and doing the exact opposite of what Edith had hoped she was going to do. It didn't help that the Count was being surprisingly flirtatious as well – apparently books brought the best out of him?

Edith didn't want to play the villain's role. She had hoped that Seras would've given this man the polite indifference and rejection that she gave all her other suitors. But of course for this man, that wasn't the case. It was just Edith's luck that Seras would be flirty, flustered, intrigued, irritated, and attracted to only this man.

Of course.

No matter, Edith tried to reconcile with herself as the carriage pulled to a halt outside their brown brick townhouse. It was no matter of her concern, Edith thought as she watched the Count leap from the carriage to offer his hand to the ladies still inside. It was up to her parents, her mother, to make the decision, not her. It was none of her concern.

She watched Seras take his hand to be practically dragged out of the carriage like she weighed nothing more than a flower. She watched as Seras stumbled from the abrupt pull and ended up almost flush against the Count's chest, the smug smirk and strategically placed hand on Seras' lower back all too telling.

Edith helped herself down, forgotten, and watched as her sister flew from his grasp with a fluster of apologies and self-beratings. The Count smiled as he said something to her sister, which of course only made her sputter more and indignantly move toward the front step. Edith turned her attention from Seras, only then to meet his momentarily uncovered gaze from over his eye glasses.

 _His red-as-blood gaze_.

And then the eyeglasses were replaced, he turned to follow Seras up the step, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't move. But oh, that _thing_ was entering her home! That _thing_ had been invited in! She had to move, she had to warn them!

Edith jerked from her stupor and ran up the slick steps, tripping on her skirts once or twice, to practically throw herself through the ornately decorated door only to find her father and an apparently visiting Mr. Thornsbury shaking hands with the monstrosity. Seras was being mauled by their mother, who was covertly pulling and smoothing every wrinkle in Seras' dress and skin.

Edith stood in the doorway, watching. For a moment she thought she saw his face flicker in her direction with the hint of one of those awful smiles. It was a smile that kept her up late that night and helped her finish a hasty letter to Sir Hellsing.

 _Sir Hellsing,_

 _Your expertise may be required after all. After experiencing certain events, I would be most indebted to you if you could spare an afternoon to speak about the circumstances. I find myself in a grievous need of your advice, and I pray it is not too late._

The wording was labored over and laced with hyperbole and double meaning for fear of it being opened by the wrong eyes before reaching Sir Hellsing. After it was postmarked and sneakily placed in the gilded gold mailbox on the front stoop, its writer returned to bed with a heart made lighter by the knowledge of initiating a possible solution. It was a good thing that she was unaware of the creeping shadow that easily read the letter through the envelope, able to catch on to her every meaning.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

Notes:

\- Alexander Bain didn't write _An Analysis of a Criminal Philosophy._ In fact, no one did. I made it up!

\- According to social norms at the time, any young lady caught alone with her suitor was doomed to social damnation under the assumption that her respectability (aka virginity or lord knows what else) could've been potentially lost in the encounter.

Did anyone catch the Armin Arlert quote?

Until next time,

Della


	4. attrahunt

Disclaimer: Yeah I don't own Hellsing... **  
**

* * *

 **IV.**

Seras made it a point to _slam_ her bedroom door extra loud, just in case her family wasn't totally sure of her opinion on the subject. The sound was followed by the click of a lock and then a frantic rapping, a frantic tapping at her chamber door.

"Seras! Seras, open the door!" It was Edith.

Seras tore at the buttons on the back of her dress in a mad attempt to get ready for bed by herself, but just couldn't reach that one on the bloody top. And she-

"I need to speak with you Seras. It's important, you must hear me! Please!"

-would be damned if she left her room before she could sort out this mess in her head, let alone see or speak with anyone. She was going to have the rest of the night to herself if it killed her. After she properly calmed down a bit, Seras planned to sort the ordeal out in her mind before retiring to bed.

Ah yes, bed. What a marvelous idea.

The knocking subsided for a moment, and Seras looked up from her night drawer. Had Edith really given up so quickly?

"You are acting such the child, Seras! You should be thankful, not angry!" Edith suddenly screeched from the other side of the door, simultaneously resuming her barrage.

Seras' eyes widened. But wait, no, she wasn't going to take such obvious bait. If previous endeavors served for any study, Edith would tire and give up eventually. It was only a matter-

" _Why do I have to act more mature when you're supposedly the eldest_?"

-of time.

Seras clenched her fists, her nails indenting little half-crescents in her palms as she stalked across her room. She unlocked and threw open the door. Edith stood there, momentarily frozen with an angry grimace and her fist poised to knock on the door.

"Childish? Me, childish! You hypocrite! How dare you call me childish when you manipulated them in to forcing me to decline!" Seras snapped, flicking an accusing finger in Edith's face. Edith, still done up in her pretty pastel pink visiting dress, took an offended step back.

"I did so only with your best interest in mind!" She said, clutching her hand to her chest with – what Seras could deduce to be – a sincere expression. But then again, Edith hadn't gotten to be one of the most promising up-and-coming young ladies in the _ton_ with bad acting.

"Yes, I suppose it would be in my best interest to be the sister-in-law of a Count, wouldn't it?" Seras hissed back, wincing when she realized just how harsh she sounded. Edith narrowed her eyes and took a step forward, made defiant by the accusation.

"You know my true heart, so stop lording what I said at the ball over me!" Edith snapped, pushing Seras back in to her bedroom and quietly shutting the door behind her. "I know you haven't been well lately, but I will not tolerate you taking it out on me!" She pulled off her gloves and hastily slammed them on Seras' nightstand.

At the mention of her affliction, Seras felt her limbs grow heavy and her mind get a bit foggy. It was Friday evening, but she had been feeling ill since waking up the Monday morning after the ball. Of course, it wasn't a horribly worrisome illness. She hadn't been feverish, coughing, vomiting, or shivering, so Seras had learned to work with it even though it made her every waking hour incoherently miserable.

Seras absentmindedly rubbed her dry eyes. Her body felt as heavy as lead and she could barely focus long enough to read a page of _Anna Karenina_ , let alone humor the irritatingly prying women the Victorias had visited with for the past few evenings.

 _How did you ever meet the Count, Seras?_

 _What is he like, Seras?_

 _I've heard you've befriended him, Seras._

 _Is he courting you, Seras?_

It was all anyone could even think to talk about, and it was all her mother seemed to care to talk about. Nevermind Edith and her wonderful, Oxford alum suitors; Seras had gained the interest of an exotic nobleman. Of course, whenever they had to tell these ladies that no, she was not officially being courted by the Count, there was a slight pause and an inaudible breath of relief from the other women. Then they would try to comfort her, as if there had never any real possibility of him taking an interest in her, and remind her that Mr. Thornsbury _had_ always had his eye on her.

There was never any mention of the jewelry or the rose outside of the Victoria household. By accepting his forward gifts, Seras herself had been too forward, and to admit such a fault could end catastrophicly. Seras wasn't entirely sure how or why it would be, but knew better than to say anything about it.

Throughout all this constant gabbing and gossiping about the Count, Seras had found him to be constantly on her mind, and most recently in her dreams. Some of them had been embarrassing to remember afterward, and had usually involved light kisses and tender caresses… and sometimes things that could never, ever be spoken of outside the bedroom. But they were now engrained in her consciousness, and she found that it didn't her surprise her as much as it would have before.

They _had_ had a very good conversation when he escorted her and Edith home on Sunday. It had been one of those conversations where there was so much hadn't needed to be spoken to be understood – and not to mention he had the same literary tastes as her. His gifts were nothing to scoff at either, but Seras had never been very materialistic.

His untoward manners in the library could easily be attributed to cultural differences, and he hadn't outright told her not to join the Force after all. He had even called her Police Girl! But then, perhaps she was only grasping at straws.

On the other hand, he was probably the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Sometimes Seras went reeling, trying to figure out what could've possibly attracted someone as ethereally beautiful as him to someone like her. She knew that she wasn't ugly per say, but the Count was on an entirely different level.

Through no new action on his behalf, Seras found that she had begun to take a rather keen interest in the Count.

So with all these new emotions and circumstances, imagine her excitement when an invitation from the Count arrived just at twilight requesting Seras' accompaniment to a delightfully exclusive upcoming ball. Finally, they could get to know each other without worrying about causing a scandal! Then imagine her surprise when, after reading the letter to family after supper, Edith blatantly protested against Seras' accompanying him. Her father was quick to agree.

It was much too forward an invitation, Edith said. To accept it would give him, and thus everyone else, the wrong opinion of her especially after his previous gifts. Her father, all too wary of the ills of man, had wasted no time in agreeing even though he had met the Count on several occasions and didn't particularly like or dislike him.

Seras had girst thought she heard them wrong. And then she absorbed what had happened, and became angry.

"You accuse me of being childish when you allow your jealousy to tamper with your own sister's prospects!" Seras snapped, taking a step back to lean on the doorframe. She had found that fatigue was a major player in her mystery illness.

"I only try to protect you! He is not to be trusted, he, he-" Edith's voice grew shriller and more frustrated with every word. How badly she wanted to warn her sister of the monster, of what he could be and what he could do! But Sir Hellsing's warning from the Church rang clear in her mind, and it took everything she had to bite her tongue.

"What is he, Edith?" She was now putting her entire weight on to the doorframe. She was so tired, much too tired to argue anymore. Her skin was a ghastly shade of grey.

Edith made a face, and both sisters stared at each other for a tense moment.

Edith sighed and shook her head. "No, I… I apologize, Seras. I should not have interfered. Sometimes I find it difficult to follow in such a wonderful elder sister's footsteps, and get a bit sour." Edith apologized, forcing a small smile. She was surprised when Seras actually seemed to believe her lame excuse.

"Oh, I'm sorry too, Edith." Seras said with a little laugh, somehow finding the strength to push herself off the doorframe to pull Edith in for an impromptu hug. Edith held on to her embrace for a moment, burying her face into the shoulder of her sister's nightgown. She smelled of soap and lilac.

"Edith…" Seras murmured when her sister's grip tightened, and her shoulders began to shake. "Edith, dear, are you alright? I-I'm sorry that I was cross… I really shouldn't have been so harsh! Oh, nothing I said I meant at all! Edith?"

Edith took another deep breath before finally pulling out of the embrace, meeting her sister's concerned face with another forced, bright smile. "I'm so silly sometimes, Seras, I… it's quite late, you should be in bed with your illness!" Edith switched the topic with a cheery laugh, grabbing her sister's shoulders and pushing her back in to the bedroom.

"Off to bed with you!" Edith laughed, pushing Seras all the way in to the room to the edge of her bed. "How embarrassing it would be to fall asleep as you ate scones at Mr. Thornsbury's tea!"

"Oh, don't remind me! Say, why don't you have to suffer alongside me?" Seras groaned, flopping on to the goose-down blankets.

"I've already made plans for the afternoon, thank you very much!" Edith chirped, skipping toward the door and dodging the pillow aimed for her head.

"Good night, Seras."

"Oh, good night, Edith."

As Edith pulled the door closed she watched Seras put out the lamp, and watched darkness take over. She quickly clicked it shut, and pulled her hand off the doorknob as if burned. She did not put out her own lamp that night.

* * *

The morning seemed to come as go as quickly as the sun rose, and by a quarter to noon the entire household was as hectic as a Persian bazaar. The Victoria ladies stood in the entry hall, fans and bonnets in hand, the younger two patiently waiting for their mother to finish making last minute preparations before they set out.

"And yes, have him know that if anything goes wrong I shall place blame wholeheartedly on him." Mrs. Victoria explained to Nora, her favorite servant. "Oh, I do think he enjoys torturing me so! Leaving your family to answer the invitation of a colleague – oh, what cruelty! Oh, my poor nerves!" She fanned her face dramatically, effectively misplacing her bangs and making her appear even more flustered.

Usually the sisters would have been sharing a laugh at their mother's expense (because living with such a character required a good sense of humor,) but this morning neither expressed such a thought. They stood beside each other, though not together, and merely watched their mother get on. They had spoken to one another and had laughed with one another already this morning, but there was still a lingering feeling of discontent from the night before.

Mrs. Victoria finally seemed to realize that if they didn't get on now they wouldn't be getting anywhere, and turned away from Nora with an aggrieved sigh before placing her bonnet on her head and heading out the front door. The sisters followed suit, always the obedient daughters.

"I tell you girls, the life of a lady never ceases." For what it was worth, Mrs. Victoria could tie a bow better than anyone in London. Edith thought it came in handy to have such an able, fashionable mother, especially given that she was about to meet with the young matriarch of one of England's most noble and respected families.

The invitation to tea had arrived several days after she had originally sent her note, and had been delivered by a less than savory fellow who would've been better suited as a mercenary than a messenger. Perhaps he really had been a mercenary - you never knew about aristocrats, especially those as eccentric as Sir Integra Hellsing.

Her family had been very surprised, to say the least, and Edith had been forced to fabricate a story about Father Alexander introducing them (true), them hitting it off as fast friends (maybe slightly untrue), and Integra allowing Edith to call on her any time she wished (sort of true). No one had really believed her, and Edith couldn't blame them. She was a terrible liar. But they couldn't just have her reject Sir Hellsing's request, no matter how out of the blue it had seemed to be.

As their modest carriage was escorted through thick wrought iron gates, along a mile drive, and finally the main drive of the Hellsing Manor, Edith suddenly felt so anxious that she wished that her family had disagreed with the whole thing. The mansion was gothic in design, and as intimidating and elegant as its current heir. When the carriage finally reached the main entrance they were greeted by a stately, salt and pepper gentleman who had apparently met her mother and Seras before.

"It was the Duke's last ball, I believe." He had said.

"Oh yes, it is nice to see you again!" Seras had responded, perfectly masking her suspicion of what business Edith had to do with such people with practiced, cheery politeness.

Edith was helped out of the carriage and eventually into the mansion, even though her mother and Seras had suggested that they pay their respects to Sir Hellsing as well. Edith was thankful that Walter was as blunt as he was tactical when he plainly stated that the aristocrat did not see people she did not send for. At this point all Edith had to think was merely based on intuition and hunches, terrible foreboding feelings and malicious thoughts.

But, Edith thought as they passed through the regal estate, she would know for certain after this meeting. Sir Hellsing and her retainer wouldn't let themselves be bothered any longer than need be, so hopefully Sir Hellsing could put her mind at ease and Edith could get home and finish her embroidery. She was falling very far behind in it.

The pair passed through a long, stately hallway lined with portraits of whom Edith supposed were Sir Integra's predecessors. Walter didn't slow his pace for any admiration, so she only had a moment to glance over each portrait as she passed. The collection struck her as… off. What she found odd was that the first half of portraits expectedly portrayed fair, elegant gentlemen who held themselves with the usual smug happiness that all noblemen seemed to be born with.

The third to last portrait was rather somber compared to its predecessor, bathed in solemn tones and giving light to a tight-lipped old gentleman. The next two paintings continued to lose any sort of pleasure or frivolity as they continued down the line, each Hellsing heir seemingly growing colder and guarded as the generations passed. Strangely, there was not yet one of Integra. Perhaps she thought herself too young for a portrait, or perhaps she thought the tradition too old-fashioned to continue. Or, perhaps she hadn't earned her right to one yet.

Finally, they came to a large set of Moroccan wood doors. Walter knocked twice before fluidly pushing one open, holding the door for her.

The office was rather plain and practical, with large sets of windows behind a varnished oak business desk and oversized leather chair. Edith shuffled toward the desk, where Sir Integra seemed to be very busy with writing reports and chewing cigars. A cloud of sweet smoke choked the air like the incense Father Anderson used at mass, and Edith found it rather hard to breathe until she took one of the padded chairs opposite the desk and effectively pulled her down and out of the cloud.

They sat there like that for a bit, Sir Integra working, Edith watching her continue to work, and Walter dutifully standing off in the corner behind Sir Integra's desk. Edith didn't dare say anything, for to be invited to such a private room was a great honor in itself.

It was only was Sir Integra had to reach for a new cigar did she seem to take notice of Edith's presence. She regarded Edith coolly as she held up her cigar for Walter to light, as if checking her over for something in particular.

"Miss Victoria." A white puff of smoke flew from her lips, and Edith tried her hardest not to cough.

"I greatly appreciate-" Edith coughed. "-your hospitality, Sir Hellsing." Sir Integra was still watching her with those emotionless eyes, seeming to see her very soul and pass heavenly judgment. Edith thought it was justified. After all, she _had_ made quite preposterous claims; a malicious red-eyed nobleman? Ridiculous!

Edith had been surprised that Sir Integra had decided to see her, let alone finish her letter after making such a claim.

Sir Hellsing merely nodded and pushed the stack of paperwork aside, giving her full attention to her uncomfortable client. "Please further explain the peculiarities you mentioned in the letter, and why they trouble you." She said, leaning back in to her red leather chair with a surprisingly blatant disregard for posture.

Edith quickly nodded. "Of course."

And so she told Sir Hellsing about how strange she found the man, how rude he and forward he had been, how he had shown such an uncomfortably obvious affection for her Seras, and those terrifying red eyes. But when she spoke of the incidents out loud, the more silly and paranoid she thought she sounded. And judging by Sir Hellsing's irritated expression, the noble thought the same.

"And how fares your family?" It was one of those questions that signaled an end to a conversation. Although Sir Integra regarded the Count as some kind of threat, Edith had not apparently given her enough information to go by. Edith bit her lip. No, no that wouldn't do! She knew the Count was dangerous, and Sir Hellsing knew he was as well!

"Seras fell ill shortly after making the Count's acquaintance in the library the Sunday last." Edith quickly piped up, her voice hasty and desperate. Sir Hellsing's head snapped from the crystal clock on the corner of her desk to Edith once again.

"Indiscriminately describe your sister's ailment." She said as she crushed the butt of her cigar in to the marble ashtray before reaching for a new one.

"Seras has been…" Edith thought back to her sister's earlier outburst, "not herself. I can infer that's she's been very sluggish and inattentive these past few days, and rarely touches her meals. She's much too pale, and just the other morning had to lie down for fear of a swoon."

Edith jumped over her words, feeling her heart race when the noble shared a look with her retainer. Truth be told, Edith hadn't thought that Seras was made ill by the Count. All she had known was that she couldn't let this meeting go to waste.

"You've accurately described the symptoms of anemia, Miss. Victoria." Walter explained as he placed a light under Sir Integra's waiting cigar.

Edith blinked, surprised. "Anemia! Why, my sister is not anemic in the slightest!"

"She apparently is now." Sir Hellsing sighed as she rolled the cigar through her fingers, surveying Edith with an unreadable expression. "Exactly what happened after the Count revealed his eyes to you?"

"Seras invited him inside, where he met my mother, father, and my father's colleague, Mr. Thornsbury. He left quite promptly afterward."

Integra set down her cigar for the first time in the meeting and exchanged it for what seemed to be a small crystal glass of scotch. Her lips were pulled back in to a taunt, bitter smile. Walter seemed to take the news with less humor, and remained standing behind Sir Integra's chair with a grave expression.

"You must understand, Miss Victoria, that my organization operates almost solely on secrecy and discretion. As such I am not at liberty to fully explain your sister's predicament, but rest assured that you _were quite_ justified in seeking my assistance. From the information you've given me, I am able to discern the situation. These events are indeed linked." Sir Integra deadpanned, resting her folded hands next to the green marble ashtray.

Edith leaned forward in her chair, forcing herself not to smile. Yes! Now hopefully Sir Hellsing could help Seras, send the Count back to whatever awful little village he sprung from, and Seras could move on to follow her dreams or whatever.

"Sir Integra… you will help me help Seras, won't you?" Edith asked all too hopefully, thinking she already knew the answer. Her heart caught a chill when she saw the heiress' expression.

"You know not what you ask, Miss." She said after a moment, her eyes narrowed and voice cold. Edith bit back a gulp. She still had another question.

"And... what exactly is the Count… Sir Hellsing?" Edith managed to whisper even though the sudden silence made it feel like a scream. Both Sir Hellsing and Walter regarded her for a tense moment, analyzing her, checking her. After a long moment, Sir Hellsing finally heaved a sigh.

"He is not a child of God like you and I, Miss Victoria."

Edith gawked at her, wringing her hands together. Never had she felt so uncertain, so helpless, so afraid. Indirect answers always hinted at the full truth. This Count… this monster… was exactly what she had feared, perhaps even worse, and as of right now Edith had no way of saving her sister.

"What will he do to her? Why does he want her? How can I save her?' Edith cried, standing so suddenly that she flipped her chair. Sir Hellsing stood as well and opened one of her desk drawers, reaching inside to pull out two simple silver crosses on silver chains. She offered them to Edith over the table, her arm as stiff and unjointed as a steel rod.

"Both you and she are to wear these at all times. _Never_ remove them, not even to bathe." Sir Integra warned her as she made her way around the desk, crossing her arms behind her. Her navy men's suit was freshly ironed with not a crease to be seen, and her footsteps were silent on the thick Persian rug.

"When you see the Count next… and you most definitely will see him again… blatantly rebuke his invitation in to your home." Sir Hellsing said with the utmost seriousness, casting a glance over her shoulder at her butler.

"What? But that'd only anger him! What if he decided to… to… kill us in our beds! Mere words would not deter him!" Edith blanched. She hadn't intended to use such a cliché, but it was very well tuned for her situation.

But Sir Hellsing only smirked, which in turn made Edith feel a little relieved and a little foolish.

"Oh yes, he may very well become angry, but he will not be able to harm you there unless you allow him to."

Edith frowned. "I don't see why that would matter to someone as awful as he."

Sir Hellsing matched her frown, but chose to ignore her comment. "You mustn't tell anyone of our meeting, especially your sister. Sometimes ignorance is not only bliss, but also safety. Her innocence may save her, and we must keep such an advantage."

* * *

Seras had always favored High Tea over Low Tea, and she had always preferred Oolong over Darjeeling. But, of course Mr. Thornsbury was only serving Darjeeling at his Low Tea, she was starving, and his invitation had specifically called for hats. She hated hats, especially the one she was wearing now.

The finely woven, circular white straw bonnet was trimmed with sky blue silk flowers and bows that managed to collect so much dust from her armoire that it was effectively giving her a cold. The silky blue streamers tickled the back of neck to the point of causing the skin to break out in irritation, and once again her corset was too tight. She was hungry and wanted to eat, but it was an unwritten rule that ladies didn't eat more than a teacake in public. All in all, Seras was having a miserable time.

It was a rather large get-together filled with lesser aristocrats and higher-ranking gentry, other high-end attorneys and their higher-end clients, and of course every man had brought his wife. But for a tea so large, it was rather more informal than most; but Mr. Thornsbury's uncle had recently been named the Duke of Hampshire*, catapulting his own social status by several degrees. He now had the leverage to do whatever he wanted to at his tea.

Seras and her mother were in the middle of a round of croquet in the back garden with the wife of one of Mr. Victoria's acquaintances and her daughter. The older women never seemed to stop to take a breath in between streams of gossip while their daughters struggled to maintain conversation about the weather. Seras also had the worst score, which she contributed to her foul health. The only thing was that she couldn't let anyone know just how foul it really was. Illness was a disgusting and only to be spoken of in the privacy of one's own home, and not in polite society.

Mr. Thornsbury seemed to notice something was off when she and her mother had greeted him, but was polite enough not to mention it. And now she awkwardly stood with her mother and her mother's friend's daughter, trying her best to stomach the Darjeeling tea that had been served and survive this last damn game of croquet. They were going to be leaving soon – they had to be leaving soon, right? Seras hoped so. She really, really hoped so.

"Oh!" The friend suddenly stopped her flow of gossip to look at something well behind Seras' shoulder, probably at someone on the patio. Seras leaned her weight on her racket, not bothering to see who it was. She felt like she barely had the energy to stand anymore, let alone make small talk.

"Good afternoon, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria practically yelled as she and the other ladies dipped into deep curtsies.

Seras felt like her insides froze. The Count, here? But she hadn't mentally prepared herself for meeting him yet! She had sent her note of declination yesterday morning, and for the sake of avoiding awkward conversation she really hoped he hadn't read it yet. She forced herself to turn around and saw that yes, he had most definitely had gotten her letter.

He nodded to the group before continuing to advance toward them, toward her, like a falcon descending on its prey. He wore the usual gentleman's attire accented with bits of red here and there, and his eyeglasses were still irritatingly dark. His steps were as heavy as his expression, and his frown was bitter enough to make the Darjeeling seem sweet.

He stopped just in front of her to look down on her, making it painfully obvious just why he seemed so bothered. Seras gulped, unsure of whether to feel guilty, afraid, or angry at the unfairness of it all. After all, it hadn't been her idea to reject his offer!

The other three women wisely made their way to a hole farther down the line, just out of hearing distance but certainly well in sight. This would make the gossip mill go in to overdrive.

"I wanted to tell you that I received your note, and will have you know that I have found another suitable companion to accompany me to the ball. You mustn't worry for my sake, Miss Victoria." His words weren't biting or snappish, but cool and calm. It seemed to make them all the crueler.

Seras felt her throat constricting and her eyes prickling as her mind begged her tears not to fall, to only wait a moment more. But she couldn't speak, she couldn't think of something smart or ladylike to say. She had wanted to go with him! It wasn't her fault that she couldn't attend; her father had practically hovered over her shoulder as she wrote the note, and explicitly disallowed her from mentioning her rejection stemmed from the wishes of her family.

Seras took in a shaky breathe. And now, because of her family's overprotectiveness, she had been replaced for what could've been such a magical night! Oh, what could have been! It was almost too painful to think about.

"I, I swear to you that I would have accepted you." Seras managed to blurt out, her voice cracking here and there and her mind too taken by emotion to filter her words. The Count seemed unchanged

"I would have accepted you had my family allowed it!" Seras' face burned in shame and embarrassment as she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and her throat clog, making her words come out in pathetic, disgusting sobs. Why was she getting so emotional? She looked at the ground, wishing so hard that she could suddenly disappear and never be found.

She was pathetic, crying like a baby in front of the Count. He would now likely never want to see her ever again. No strong, important man like him would want anything to do with a weak excuse for a woman like her. God, she couldn't even face him without crying! How would she ever face the crime or death that came with police work?

The Count hadn't said anything, and his shoes hadn't yet moved. Seras harshly wiped at her cheeks with her gloved hands and began to walk away, hoping to save what little dignity she had left. She was weak, she was so, so disgusting, she-

She…

….

And then the next thing she knew was that she could not see, but heard different voices yelling her name and the names of others. She foggily braced herself for impact against unforgiving ground, but instead felt strong arms around her and her face brush against crisp, sweet-smelling fabric. The arms lowered her to the grassy ground and she felt something soft being placed under her legs. The nice, strong arms were still secure around her. A gloved hand lightly caressed her check and untied her bonnet, fingers brushed through her hair.

This made her happy.

Then she felt her eyes fluttered open, and at first there was nothing except for black and a flurry of disembodied voices and sounds. Slowly, ever so slowly, colors returned, shapes formed and lines sharpened to reveal worried faces and concerned and angry voices. Her mother, her mother's friend, and Mr. Thornsbury, were looking down at her, saying things that she couldn't quite yet decipher.

Seras looked down to see her legs slightly elevated by cushions too fine to be out on the grass, and even stranger yet, two gloved hands clasped firmly around her waist.

"You're defeating the purpose, Count. The blood won't get to her head in that manner; it's a stroke of good luck she even woke up a t'all." It was Mr. Thornsbury who was angry. Seras blinked, confused, and leaned back in to…

 _Oh my god._

"It seems our Sleeping Beauty has finally been awakened. As such I see no reason to change our position and risk worsening her sensitive state." The Count's voice reverberated against her back through their clothing. Seras immediately stiffened and tried to sit up, but his grip on her only tightened. She fidgeted and tried to speak, but everyone else was beating her to it. She felt his heat radiate from him to her, cocooning her in to a sense of security. She stopped fidgeting, and instinctively leaned in to the embrace.

" _You_ may think so, but it'd be best to see her home and to a doctor." Mr. Thornsbury sniffed with an ill hidden sneer, undoubtedly itching to land a well-placed punch in the Count's perfectly symmetrical face.

"Yes sir, you are quite right." The Count agreed with a grave face, finally relinquishing his hold on Seras to gently lay her on the ground. Mr. Thornsbury seemed to be smugly satisfied for a moment before watching the Count bend down to sweep Seras into his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a kitten.

Seras' mouth fell open and her cheeks burned redder than she previously thought possible, stuttering and fidgeting in his iron grip. "E-excuse me!" She called out, though didn't bother to restate when she was blatantly ignored. This was a special circumstance, after all, so the rules of etiquette could look the other way just this once… and it wasn't as if she particularly disliked her situation…

It was just good to keep up appearances. The more shocked, insulted, and unwilling the lady, and the more chivalrous the gentleman the more accepted such an intimate action could be. After all, such a breach was only being made in dire circumstances, and what could be direr than an ailing lady?

"Madam," The Count called out to Seras' mother, who at this point was also close to swooning, "we shall take my carriage." It was not a question or a recommendation. If her mother hadn't given her consent almost before he stopped speaking, it could have been regarded as a kidnapping! Mr. Thornsbury was certainly saying it could have been as much, what with the Count so blatantly walking away with a lady _without the lady's consent._

"You… you will ruin me." Seras muttered in embarrassment and a bit of amusement as he pushed their way out of the well-furnished townhome and down the expertly-laid stone staircase. She didn't have to look up to know he was wearing that awful smile, that same smile that used to haunt her.

"Only if you allow it to be so." The Count laughed dryly as he helped her in to the carriage before turning to her mother, who had been following them all this time. The ride back to the Victoria household was rather uneventful, but the respects paid afterward were quite the spectacle.

"You are truly a gracious man, My Lord. How might I ever repay you for the help you have given?" Mr. Victoria had said, albeit a bit begrudgingly once Seras had been escorted to her chambers and a doctor had been sent for. He didn't trust the man, the man who had taken an all too quick and eager interest in his daughter.

And the Count had only smiled, and Mr. Victoria instantly regretted his choice of words.

"My friend, I fear you have come to believe me to be too forward. So it is with great humbleness that I ask your permission to court your daughter."

And what could Mr. Victoria say to one who he was obligated to address as "My Lord?"

* * *

Edith stepped out of her carriage, clutching her silver crucifix close to her bosom, and replaying her visit at the Hellsing Estate over and over. She looked up to the front door, and her heart sank.

And then… _there he was._ Coming out of her home, of all places!

When had he gotten in? Who had let him in? How long had the beast been here?

Edith felt sick to her stomach… and then something else.

A strange, steely resolve. Looking back, Edith wasn't sure what exactly made her do it. Perhaps her courage had been stirred from her visit with the assertive Sir Hellsing, or perhaps she had just finally had enough of the constant fear for herself and for her sister. It was time that she faced the monster.

They met at the bottom of the step, Edith cutting him off just as he was about to make for his own polished coach. He regarded her with disinterest, and asked her to get out of the way.

"I rebuke your invitation to this house." She hissed, clenching her fists and not able to meet his hidden gaze. "You are no longer welcome here." There. It was done. She grasped at her necklace again, only to be harshly shouldered aside- practically pushed on to her own stoop!

The Count left in stormy huff, and for the rest of the evening Edith wondered if she hadn't just let her fear get the better of her and insulted an innocent man.

But when Seras recovered from her illness in a matter of days, Edith knew she had made the right choice. It was a thought she needed when night after night she was kept awake by awful, sharp scraping and scratching outside her first-floor window accompanied by the ungodly growls of some demented creature.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

Notes:

\- Low Tea was traditionally held by the upper class and generally consisted of different types of tea, sweets, and small sandwiches that would not spoil their appetite for supper. Being able to afford high-quality foods in large quantities, for the upper classes' Low Tea was more of a high-end social snack than a meal. High Tea was enjoyed by the lower class and generally made to be the most important meal of day. As such more substantial foods were served with the tea such as vegetables, fruits, heavier sandwiches, soups, etc.

\- There's no actual dukedom of Hampshire lol.

Sorry for the delay – we just finished our summer class finals. Whoo!

Until next time,

Della


	5. V

Disclaimer: Don't own _Hellsing_ and never will, but that's cool cause I'm chill.

(I should stick to stories and not rap)

* * *

 **V.**

Things were beginning to look up for Seras.

After the rather embarrassing and rumor-worthy episode at Mr. Thornsbury's tea, Seras had finally been forced to address her illness as something not to be ignored and was sentenced to bed rest for a week. The physician her father called for had diagnosed her with anemia, which didn't make much sense to Seras.

Anemia was, by definition, a decrease in the number of red blood cells or less than the normal amount of hemoglobin in the blood. It was caused by a wide variety of medical jargon: blood loss, vitamin deficiency, genetic abnormalities. After speaking with Mrs. Victoria about Seras' diet, her physician had determined the cause to be a vitamin deficiency whose effects had been magnified by stress (apparently she was "too anxious,") a lack of sufficient oxygen (it was the corset!) and heat exhaustion (because 70 degrees was apparently too hot.) All of these factors had culminated and severely weakened her to the point where her body was unable to cope.

"Could blood loss also account for anemia?" Edith had inquired as she, her mother, and the doctor diligently sat at Seras' bedside the night of her swoon.

There was a beat, and then an affirmative.

"Seras hasn't loss any blood, Doctor." Mrs. Victoria had explained, writing off her daughter's rather odd question as mere curiosity. Edith was silent for the remainder of the exam- not as if anyone had noticed, anyway.

Seras was assigned a prescription, put on a week of bed rest, and a required daily fluid intake – and you know what? She was feeling better! By the third day Seras had felt like she had gone right back to normal, and by the fifth she was getting a bit stir crazy. Thankfully Edith was at her side in the mornings before she and their mother left for the afternoons and had faithfully come back to sit with her in the evening to make fun of the stuffy people she had been forced to entertain.

It felt like old times as they gossiped about the handsome young men who had begun to follow Edith like love struck puppies and their jealous sweethearts, carefully sidestepping around any mention of the Count. They laughed at the overworked jokes in the print, and gobbled up Dickens' latest story installments. Nora brought up dinner on a tray for both of them, and they ate in Seras' bedroom like children.

It was a nice little reprieve from the inevitable, the matter that was still lurking in the back of their minds. The matter whose unopened letters to Seras remained on the stairwell, and whose flowers had been delivered to the sitting room instead of Seras' bedroom. Flowers could after all cause allergies, and what kind of sister would Edith be if she worsened Seras' condition?

But you can't stop the inevitable. No one can.

It was on the morning of the sixth day that Seras was finally allowed out of her chambers and back in to household life, albeit slowly. She practically jumped down the stairs on her way to breakfast still dressed in her sleeping gown, much to her mother's distaste but her doctor's approval, and almost slipped on the stack of letters. They scattered all over the brightly polished floor of the foyer.

"Oh bother!" Seras bent to pick them up, but frowned when she realized they were all addressed to her. Now, that was funny. She really wasn't that popular… at all. In fact, aside from Edith, she didn't have many female friends.

The letters were addressed to her in a heavy, elegant hand which had seemed to labor over her name in dark ink. There was no return address, but there was a red wax seal on the back of each envelope. Seras couldn't help the goofy grin. Without an address, she knew exactly who had sent her these letters. His dark yet beautiful penmanship matched him, after all.

Oh, wow. Just when had she gotten so corny?

He had written her every day since she had fallen ill at Mr. Thornsbury's party! Her heart fluttered as she struggled to tear the seal of the first letter she scooped up, all but forgetting that the rest of the family was waiting on her to breakfast.

Approaching footsteps on worn hardwood alert her that yes, it was probably a good time to set the letters aside for now. God only knew what her family would do if they realized that she was receiving letters from, _gasp_ , a suitor. Well, they probably would've been fine with letters from a suitor. After the Thornsbury tea pseudo-scandal, it was only a problem if they were from the Count.

Sera startled when she heard soft footsteps behind her and quickly placed them behind one of the Ming vases in the foyer. She didn't exactly want to share whatever the Count had written with her family, whose matriarch interpreted every look as a "lovers' longing" and every sigh as "a hint of what was to come." Mothers.

But after the family had disbanded after breakfast, Edith to Rotten Row,* her father to his law office, her mother to the florist and she to her room, Seras found that her so-called love letters wouldn't have been so scandalous after all. Well, they were still relatively scandalous; after all, what respectable lady received five letters from one suitor the mere week after he received permission to court her? They had only known each other for three weeks as well… wasn't there some sort of time period they had to go through before they courted?

Oh, well. She had begun to enjoy her time with the Count enough to cease caring about such petty things… though, perhaps it was in both their best interests that she not tarnish her reputation in any way. No respectable gentleman like the Count would ever been seen with a lady in disgrace.

Seras frowned as she closed her chamber door behind her, letters in hand. She didn't want something as silly as societal opinion to get in the way of what was becoming a blossoming relationship. Seras had actually begun to like the Count. Certainly he was eccentric and peculiar, but he was also chivalrous, generous, beautiful, and charismatic. He had a certain blunt wit and cynical sense of humor that she appreciated. Such was very much present in his letters:

 _April 4, 1845_

 _Police Girl,_

 _It is to my understanding that you have fallen ill, a fact that serves as a scant surprise. I lament that you will become a shut-in for an indeterminable period of time._

Seras was glad she was the one to be opening his letters. Neither Edith nor her mother would have been able to appreciate such, ahem, wit…

His other letters were just about as lengthy and sentimental as the first, though his most recent letter, which had been dated just the day prior, threatened at him paying a visit to the Victoria household if he did not receive word from her or her family at some point. Seras had smiled like a loon when she read that bit, and stuck it in the necklace drawer of her jewelry case for safekeeping. She knew that it was the closest thing she'd get to a love letter from him.

It was that day that she took the time to finally respond, and it was on the sixth day that she was pronounced well and recovered enough to go out and about for short periods of time – and by "go out," she was able to mill about other parts of the household for as long as she wished. It was on the seventh day, just another Sunday, that Seras put her reclaimed freedom to use.

The grandfather clock in the drawing room had just begun to chime half-after seven when there was a brisk knock at the front door. The Victoria family sat together in the drawing room listening to Mr. Victoria read from Revelations as the women caught up on their sewing.

The sisters were unglamorously seated on the floor surrounded by spare needles and thread near the window. It wasn't the tidiest predicament, but it was a cozy and well-worn tradition that Seras particularly enjoyed. Their mother seemed to agree with the sentiment, and for that short time she did not nag her daughters to retain their posture or practice their conversation skills.

The day had been unusually frigid for April, and a smoldering fire crackled in the background. The shadows had lengthened, and the setting sun cast a warm glow through the sparkling windows. Edith and Seras sat in companionable silence, enjoying their father' narration of the prophets, and simply relaxed. And then there was that knock, Mr. Victoria stopped reading, and the moment was gone.

As Nora went to answer the call with a "Please, do come in," Mrs. Victoria literally leapt in to action from her perch on the faded settee next to her husband, accidentally kicking a basket of yarn and sending the spools everywhere. Mr. Victoria sighed and bookmarked his page before gently setting the Bible down on the dark oak side table next to him.

"My dear, there is hardly a need for such fuss when we do not even know for certain whether or not we have company."

Mr. Victoria bit back a sigh. Recently he found a reason to sigh too often in his line of work, and refused to have that carry over to his homelife. Edith bit her lip and quietly stood to help her mother collect the spools.

"Well, one knows it's better to be safe than sorry, especially when one is in as sorry as our own, and 'tis-" Mrs. Victoria had begun to say something about preparedness as she bent over to right of the toppled basket, but her breath caught in her throat when she looked. She heard Edith whisper something under her breath from beside her, but chose to ignore such behavior for now; they'd speak of such a lapse later.

The Count had decided to pay their little family a visit. He stood in the entryway to the drawing room with Nora at his side, her small frail frame making his all the larger in comparison. He hadn't even taken his maroon duster off, and still held a wolf-headed cane in his hand. He didn't seem to be planning on staying for long.

"What a wel-welcome surprise, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria found herself stuttering, and admonished herself for it in her thoughts. She, of all people, stuttering?

But another side of her, a more realist side, did not chastise her for it. How fair would it be to do so? It was so strange to observe the tall, broad shouldered man in her doorway; she wondered how he had fit through it at all. The Count was undeniably beautiful, a creature more likely to be found in an exotic castle in a fable than her drab, outdated drawing room. Oh, she knew she should've gotten the purple-floral patterned wallpaper instead of the orange! She should've changed the curtains when she had the chance on Thursday morning!

She could only hope that her bad decisions wouldn't deter him from Seras.

"My Lord, it is a honor to receive you." Mr. Victoria stood from his seat, prompting Seras to do the same. Edith stood beside her mother, clutching an armful of yarn almost protectively to her chest.

"My Lord, may I be of assistance?" Nora asked demurely from behind him, unable to enter the room.

The Count smiled with ill-concealed amusement (and was that malice?) as he shook Mr. Victoria's hand, blatantly ignoring Nora and Mrs. Victoria, before offering him and then Seras a baleful grin. "It's a beautiful night." He stepped further in to the room, which had seemed to shrink in his domineering presence.

"Oh yes! The sunset is especially lovely!" Seras piped up, ignoring the discreet jab of the elbow in the stomach from Edith.

Seras gave her sister a skeptical look from the corner of her eye before turning back to the Count. Not the "he's dangerous!" nonsense again! Ever since the Count had taken her and her mother home from the Sunday last, Edith had been acting rather strange… and religious.

She'd practically forced Seras to wear a drab silver crucifix and complained when she took it off for less than a minute, and then nailed a crucifix in every room of the home. No one had complained because no one would complain about piousness, but Seras was certain everyone found Edith's resurgence into the faith as strange as she did.

Edith had also become rather jumpy and paranoid, and Seras was almost sure she had been having trouble sleeping if the dark purple and brown bags under her eyes were anything to go. Not to mention that she had tea with that strange Sir Hellsing again, and any mere whisper of the Count put Edith in a foul mood.

"Especially lovely, indeed. Though perhaps not as lovely as the ladies I'm graced to be speaking with." The Count turned his gaze on her, smiling wickedly. Seras couldn't help the bashful smile and sudden flush of color over her cheeks. He looked back to Mr. Victoria again, smile persistent.

"Oh, my Lord!" Mrs. Victoria laughed flirtatiously to Edith's disgust.

"I have rudely interrupted your evening to selfishly ask for the favor of Miss Seras' company on an evening stroll about your neighborhood…" The Count began once Mrs. Victoria had calmed herself. "…with the proper accompaniment, of course." He added upon catching Mr. Victoria's questioning gaze.

"Of course." Mr. Victoria repeated in emphasis. The Count's smile flickered slightly.

Seras, seeing her chance, decided that now was the best time to get her word in on the matter.

"I would be delighted to make your acquaintance, My Lord… if you don't mind being seen with such a plain lady to-night." Seras' eyes darted to her rather dated, a bit faded dress that she wore for her own comfort on private nights where none but her own family would see her. It was for that reason that her mother allowed her to do so. At the present time her hair wasn't anything remarkable either, and she bore no jewels or anything remotely expensive.

All in all, Seras wouldn't have been surprised if the Count did decided to call on her another time. He, dressed in the usual fine silk and perfectly tailored ensemble, certainly deserved better. And for God's sake, was that a pendant of pure onyx clipped to his necktie?

Yes, yes it was. Seras suddenly felt acutely more self-conscious.

"No, not at all." His smile, as cheeky as it was malicious, was directed at her. Embarrassment and indignation flowed through her; well, maybe now she didn't want to go with him anyway!

"Wonderful! I'm in need of a bit of exercise myself, why don't I play chaperone!" Mrs. Victoria announced as she practically threw her yarn on to the settee in her excitement, disregarding the wicker basket Edith had laid next to her.

Well, now Seras didn't have a choice in deciding whether or not she would go with him.

"I would hate for the Count to see be seen with someone beneath one of his status." Seras sniffed, still stung by the Count's snub. The room was quiet for a moment. There was muffled, unladylike snort from Edith's direction. Mr. and Mrs. Victoria stared at their daughter, flabbergasted, before turning to gauge the Count's reaction.

But the Count didn't offer much insight to such a matter. If one had been watching closely, it would be seen that for a short moment he'd been caught just as off guard as the Victorias had been before recovering to an unsettling fit of chuckles.

"I wouldn't worry, Police Girl. I believe we've been seen enough for such an issue to take minor precedence."

She started. Why had he seen the need to call her that name in front of her family? _In front of her mother_? And to word such a statement so _suggestively,_ as if their gallivanting around the streets of London was a regular occurrence!

"I-I will need a shawl!" Seras squaked, making her escape from what was bound to become an either awkward or confrontational conversation. As she spirited past him, she caught the glint of white from an upturned lip, the crease of an eyebrow. He enjoyed her torment.

But she was only happy that he had found something about someone as odd and strange as she to enjoy.

There was a murmur of conversation in the drawing room as she withdrew her mauve shawl from a hidden closet under the staircase, sighing when she draped it over her shoulders. It was such a depressing, plain color and perfectly matched her mousy dress of depressing, faded green. It was an ensemble that matched her situation, a plain Jane next to a magnificent man.

To picture her walking at his side, pale and boring, an example of whom he chose to associate with… Seras was embarrassed for him.

And embarrassment, it seemed, had no intention of leaving her.

"It is a beautiful night." The Count repeated himself as he joined her in the foyer, his steps soundless and swift. Her mother trudged in right after him, eyeing Seras warily, just daring her to mess this up.

"It is indeed." Seras agreed demurely, pulling the shawl closer to her as she stepped out the front door once her mother was ready. The Count had never taken off his outer-wear to begin with.

They started down the sidewalk side by side with Mrs. Victoria a respectable distance behind them, just out of earshot but not out of sight. Their pace was slow and leisurely and matched the melancholy atmosphere of the Sunday twilight. The shops' windows were dark and empty, and the streetlamps were just beginning to be lit. It was hardly a time to be walking around with a suitor.

The Count seemed to realize this as well. "I'm sorry to say that you will not find me available to be dragged about during the daylight hours, Police Girl." He said rather snidely, as if all she found him good for were bragging privileges.

"Oh no, that's alright!" Seras ignored the insinuation. She didn't think of him as some exotic accessory. "I'm happy to be with you, my Lord, whenever the time's convenient! I am certain one as important as you has little time for leisure." She would take whatever he was willing to offer.

The Count didn't say anything in response, and they continued on in companionable silence for a time.

"Porphyria." The Count broke the silence as they turned a corner, maneuvering to assure that he stood closest to the street and Seras was spared.*

"I bed your pardon, my Lord?" What was that supposed to mean? Was it a Romanian pick up line or something?

"I suffer from Porphyria, Police Girl." He said rather gruffly, as if he hated admitting a weakness. "It is a skin condition that causes me great distress if I expose myself to the sun for too long a time."

Seras blinked. "You joined us in the yard at Mr. Thornsbury's tea…"

The Count mumbled something under his breath that Seras didn't catch before taking her hand to place it on his arm. She gasped at his forwardness and the fact that he had yet to let go of her hand – probably because he knew she would remove it once he detached his grip. "Why do you think I only sent you letters, Miss Victoria, and never visited in person? I needed time for my own body to recuperate." He returned, no amusement found in his voice.

Seras bit her lip and looked down at her rather scuffed boots. She seemed to be the worst person he could've been with tonight, what with the mess she looked and the inadvertent accusations she had thrown his way.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. You are a terribly resilient person to bear such a burden; you are truly a strong man." She meant it sincerely, genuinely, and it seemed to register with the Count. His features softened ever-so-slightly, and he removed his hand to pat her little gloved one.

"You are too naïve, Police Girl." He reinstated his grip on her hand and pulled it in closer to his forearm, effectively pulling her a little closer as well. Not as if she minded, however. The walked so close to each other, the fabric of his jacket brushing against the material of her shawl with every step. Seras hoped he couldn't hear her heartbeat like she could, frantically pulsing in her ear.

They walked like that for a while, conversation not seemingly terribly important in the whitewashed light of the rising full moon. Every once in a while one of them would comment on something, whether it be on a little shop passed or a passing thought, but they otherwise allowed the silence to take its course.

That was something Seras liked about the Count. He found no need for petty small talk, to speak merely for the sake of speaking. It was a welcome change from the usual arrangement of irrelevant conversations she was expected to have with almost everyone she met. It was wonderful to find someone who wasn't afraid of the quiet.

A quiet that was all too quickly disturbed.

A metal door attached to the shop they'd just passed, squeaky from years' worth of rust, suddenly crashed open (and practically in to Seras' back.) The Count reacted – grabbing her around the waist and pulling her protectively against his chest while raising his walking stick in the other to address whatever unsavory creature was getting a head start in the early night. Seras stiffened at the contact, watching with wide eyes as the possibly assailant moved to reveal himself from behind the door. She cursed herself for not taking a different route; while this way hadn't had a bad reputation, it certainly hadn't had an outstanding one either. And now the Count could get in to trouble on her behalf!

It would've been more romantic if the Count hadn't been so scary in that moment, his cool breath brushing over her hair in a silent hiss, muscles tense and ready to act. He was ready to attack, ready to bare his teeth and sink them in to whoever the poor, wretched criminal was.

"Pip? Pip Bernadotte! What in heaven's name are you doing in that wretched place?" Mrs. Victoria's call seemed to confuse the Count, who lowered his cane but didn't release his rather inappropriate, though protective, hold on Seras.

Mrs. Victoria saw him first, stumbling out of an unaffiliated rusty door on the edge of an alley, but once he came in to their view Seras breathed a sigh of relief. The Frenchman was clad in dark peasant clothing that was more fit for the armed forces than polite society, and was that a gun in the pocket of his ragged olive green jacket? Judging from the Count's strengthened hold on her, she assumed so.

Pip blinked and threw his long chestnut briad over his shoulder, first jumping around to face Mrs. Victora, and then Seras, and then back again. The Count wasn't assumed.

"What _the hell_ did you think you were doing?" He snarled, his voice frightening and accusatory. Pip flinched and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, wisely casting his eyes down – only to lay sight on Seras.

"Why, it's Seras Victoria! Why are you out here in the dark, _Cher_?" Pip grinned at her, choosing to ignore the Count for the time being. "And Mrs. Victoria, _mon chou_ , how happy I am to zee you!" He turned to address the older woman, who wore a looked crossed with surprise, agitation, and fondness.

Seras forced her way out of the Count's arms as Pip addressed her mother, offering him a shy smile when she heard him practically hiss under his breath. He seemed to be quite moody tonight, and while she suspected she bore a share of the blame for his unhappiness, Seras wasn't about to let him keep her from seeing her dear friend! She hadn't seen him for several weeks!

"Pip! Oh, Pip, what in heaven's name gives you the right to frighten us so!" Seras laughed as the young man rushed to her at her call, grabbing her waist to spin her around in the air as if they were long-lost lovers. He smelled like cigarette smoke and cotton. Seras didn't turn to see the Count's reaction to their reunification; she didn't have to to know that he was probably less than pleased.

" _Ma chérie,_ the sight of you is like water to a man dying of thirst! How good it is to see you!" Pip cheered once he set her down, taking her thin forearms in his large, calloused hands. Seras didn't comment on the fact that he was skirting around her question.

Pip was Seras' senior by several years, but a long time ago he had lived down the block from the Victoria household with his mercantile parents. Seras and Pip officially met in Sunday school; nether had wanted to be there, so a common bond was formed and utilized in times of classroom filibustering and blatant disregard for the forced memorization of prayers. The fact that the two lived so close only heightened a bond of camaraderie to full-blown blood-brotherhood that persisted through childhood and adolescence.

It was only after Pip graduated from Oxford and promptly disappeared off the face of the earth that they began to drift a part. Sera had always suspected – er, known- that there was more to their friendship on Pip's part, but as a childhood friend he was granted a pardon from the irritating game of civilities young men and women played with each other.

"What have you been doing all this time?" Seras whispered conspiratorially with a raised brow. Pip only smiled in response, but it didn't reach his eyes. They told a second story that Seras longed to know for his sake. Pip had never been one to internalize before.

"What I have had to do, _mon ange_." It was less than she had hoped for, but more than she knew she would've gotten had she been anyone else. She worried for him.

A loud, over exaggerated cough broke the moment. The two friends jumped together, Seras' tinkling laugh harmonizing with Pip's deeper one. There was a _tap-tap-tapping_ on the sidewalk, the unmistakable glint of a well-polished shoe.

The Count was certainly a frightening man. Seras' smile fell for a split second as her eyes drifted over his sunglasses, afraid of what she would have found had they not been hidden.

"I apologize, I have forgotten myself!" Seras broke away from Pi's embrace, standing in between the two men. The Count glowered at her, arms crossed, foot still tapping with obviously implied impatience. He seemed to get bigger in such a threatening posture, and he did nothing to make himself any less intimidating to her or Pip. She laughed, trying to lighten the sudden tension, but it came out as strained and awkward. Her mother did nothing to alleviate the situation.

"My Lord, may I introduce my childhood friend, Mr. Pip Bernadotte? And Pip, might I introduce the honorable Count Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia?" Seras said, gesturing from the Count to Pip and then from Pip to the Count. Pip bowed politely before extending his hand to the Count, who merely looked at it and sneered in disdain. Seras blanched.

Pip frowned and drew back his hand. There was silence for a long moment.

"Well, Pip, you will have to pay us a visit to catch up!" Mrs. Victoria had apparently decided to finally take initiative and joined the conversation, laying her hand gently on Pip's arm. Pip's face broke out in another half-hearted smile.

"Certainly!" He laughed, before glancing around them. "It is late. I apologize, I must go." His leave was as curt as his goodbye, offering Seras a light handshake and another (though rather forced) bow to the Count before crossing the road. Seras watched him blend in to the shadows of the street, which was uncomfortably empty.

"It seems we are out rather late as well." She began uncertainly, unsure of what the Count's opinion on the matter was. Unfortunately for her, he didn't seem bothered in the least.

"Indeed." His voice was still strained, and he seemed to still be mulling over their run-in with Pip. That didn't stop him from regaining hold of her hand once they began to walk again, not letting it leave his arm until they finally returned to the household an hour later.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

Notes:

\- Rotten Row is a well maintained horse track along the south side of Hyde Park in London, and was the place for all fashionable upper class ladies and gentleman to be seen.

\- It's an old custom that the man walk near to the street than the woman so that in case a carriage would pass and splash hay or mud or God only knew what else on the passerby, the woman would be spared. Good old chivalry for you

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I promise that once I find time I'll respond to everyone!

In the mean time, please tell me what you think!

Until next time,

Della


	6. VI

Disclaimer: We've been over this before: I don't own _Hellsing_. Geez.

* * *

 **VI.**

Seras flipped the invitation in her hands a second time, still marveling at the rich, thick quality of the stationary. It was the type of stationary that sat next to oversized pearls and precious gems in upscale boutiques, a type of hand-crafted artisan paper that Seras always liked to look at when her mother went to purchase the new ring or brooch. It didn't surprise her that the Count owned pads of paper that'd probably cost more than several of her best evening gowns combined.

The Count had delivered the invitation when he saw Seras and her mother back to their home after their little evening excursion the Sunday previous, just after he had made his goodbyes and was about to step out the door. He pulled it from an inner pocket of his dark great coat as if he'd almost forgotten (and maybe he had,) and placed it in Seras' hands with another one of his conniving, smug little smiles. Then he left without a word.

Mrs. Victoria had practically torn it out of Seras' hands afterward.

"Oh! Oh my goodness, the Count has invited us to a dinner party!" Mrs. Victoria was so excited Seras thought her mother was literally going to cry.

"Has he now?" Mr. Victoria still wasn't a very big fan of the Count. Something about him just didn't sit right with him, not as though he could ever say so.

The Count had never done him or his family any wrong, even if he _was_ overly forward with his daughter. But such behavior could be easily brushed off by the rest of society as a mere cultural difference – because the Count was simply so used to his own country's code of etiquette, such a breach could easily be forgiven. Not to mention that he was also a Count. Being royalty always helped in such matters. Yes, there was always the Count's status to consider.

Edith coincidentally entered the foyer just after the Count left, and took a moment to observe the situation before speaking.

"What does it read?" A good question. Mrs. Victoria took it upon herself to wave it in everyone's face so they too could bask in its glory. Seras blinked when it was her turn, before gently tugging it out of her mother's gloved claws to get a better look.

" _Lord Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Victoria and their daughters at dinner on Saturday, the nineteenth of April, at seven o'clock in the evening. R.S.V.P."_

"Such an elegant hand, such perfect manners!" Mrs. Victoria gushed, wasting no time to grab it back from Seras once again. After that, there were no objections to the nightly walks the Count began to request of Seras.

They were harmless enough. The Count always arrived at the Victoria household at twilight and never much earlier due to his affliction of porphyria, and escorted Seras on a stroll around the neighborhood with one of the housemaids trailing a respectful distance behind.

Their conversations ranged from politics to Greek folklore to petty gossip, and Seras felt that underneath the rugged exterior she had found a common soul. By the fourth week they didn't even exchange the proper greeting of curtsies and civil games; they didn't need them. Seras thought it exhilarating.

There were no off-limit topics, no wrong answers, and no fears of making a social blunder because neither of them couldn't have given a shit. Seras found it so liberating, found it so beautiful, to speak to someone outside her family and close friend group without constraint. She even brought him in to her otherwise secret world of police dreams and dramas.

"How adventurous, Police Girl. You really stole them? At that age?" The Count was unsurprisingly pleased with the fact that she'd had a childhood habit of reading confidential files from her father's desk when he was in the Force.

"I wouldn't call it stealing, you know." She pouted as they turned a corner. "I prefer to recall it as a mere extended reading practice. I never neglected to return them." The Count laughed.

"But as a ten year-old child, at midnight?" His grin was wide. "It seems you cannot cease to surprise me." He patted the hand she'd looped through his arm. Usually such forward actions were reserved for betrothed couples, but what Seras' parents didn't know couldn't hurt them.

"But why such fascination with crime instead of dolls, hmm? You were not a normal child – you are not a normal girl. Are you, perhaps, as ill in the mind as I?" He guided them a bit closer toward the closing shops, away from the road where a carriage passed by. Seras noticed a spray of mud catch the bottom hem of his great coat.

"I needn't remind you that I am a lady and not a girl once more, have I?" Seras sighed, shaking her head with a feigned scowl.

The Count laughed again, loud and throaty. It made her feel so unbelievably accomplished when she was able to make him laugh. "Of course not, Police Girl, of course not. But you've yet to answer my question."

Seras bit her lip, and counted the cracks in the pavement as they made their way. Aside from the occasional carriage and the Victorias' favorite maid Nora trailing behind them, they had a good bit of privacy.

"Well, I suppose… I suppose it makes the most sense to me. My father, of course, made a lasting impression on my choice, but the philosophy of crime and punishment is right in of itself." She paused. That was one reason, but wasn't the whole truth. "I-I, I've always been jealous that the officers are able to do something."

"Oh?"

"I-" Seras sucked a shaky breath. She'd never actually told anyone this before, not even Pip. Hopefully the Count hadn't been hoping to court a member of the Cult of Domesticity.* "I would ardently despair if I were to be just another wife whose main purpose in life was to breed children and host garden parties. Such an occupation is noble in its own way, to be certain, but when I'm faced with the prospect I feel so, so trapped."

"I feel as though there is so much more I could do, but all of that is not allowed. Medicine, law, writing, teaching – no man would ever allow such a soft and silly woman like me to practice them, would he?" Her smile was thin. "The Force was my best option, what with the connections of my father and the years of secret study I've dedicated to it. But I am fortunate, I suppose, in that I've always found the Force to be more interesting than law or writing." She didn't dare look up at the Count. She didn't think she'd be able to face disapproval from him.

He spoke after a long moment. "Did you ever truly intend to marry, Police Girl?"

Seras jerked her head up in surprise at the amused, almost pleased tone of his voice. His smile, sinister to her at one time but now strangely soft, made her heart skip a beat.

"O-of course!" She persisted. "I could do both." The Count merely patted her hand, and they continued on their way.

But their walks could never last for long. After a brief lapse, her illness had returned with less of an intensity but enough of one to make her weak and dizzy by the time they'd returned. Not that she'd ever tell the Count that, though – the last time she admitted as much he cut their walking distance by half, effectively cutting their time together short. Seras wasn't about to have that happen again.

They always took the same streets at the same red and orange hours, her hand never straying from the crook of his arm. He seemed to get irritated if it did, and the Count was no fun when he was irritated. But regardless of how much time they spent together, that was about all she knew about him. His name, where he hailed from, his cynical opinion on tid-bits here and there…

There was never any substance, never anything to go off of. No birth date, no family, no visible friends, not too many hobbies. She didn't even know what business he did as a Count. But every time she would try to ask, he'd somehow sidestep around it and end up getting a bit too much information out of her instead.

Eventually he had to return her home, and then she would go straight to bed, where she would hope to dream of him – but usually ended up with terrible nightmares instead. Over the weeks the nightmares morphed to night terrors complete with red eyes, gleaming fangs, snarling jaws, and some dark, dark creature stalking her… watching her… all the time…

She woke in the dead of night to blood curdling screams, screams that paralyzed her.

It was only when they finally ceased did she realize that they were her own.

* * *

Seras, Edith, and Mr. Victoria sat in the drawing room, waiting for their mother to finish… whatever it was that needed done before they left for the dinner party. Seras sat on the settee, back ramrod straight, wringing her hands nervously with Edith sitting almost despondently next to her. Mr. Victoria was at the writing desk, thoroughly involved with a novel. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the muffled commands of Mrs. Victoria were the only things to be heard.

"I do wish she'd hurry." Seras said after a while, looking at the setting sun through the windowpane. It was already five and twenty minutes after six o'clock, and they were expected at seven! Edith glanced at her from the corner of her eye.

"Really? I'm quite well staying put right here." Her voice wasn't mean-spirited or condescending or… anything, really. It was melancholy. It made Seras feel unsettled.

"Oh, come off it." Seras said half-heartedly, not in the mood to reprimand her sister for her bad attitude. It had become all too common as of late, and she had decided that she was going to be happy to-night regardless if Edith liked it or not.

Edith only looked away and didn't bother to respond.

A few long moments later Mrs. Victoria made her entrance, carrying with her the strong scent of perfume and mothballs, which made Seras start considering that it was early May.

"Why is everyone simply lazing about?" Mrs. Victoria scolded them, wagging her finger around is if it were a loaded gun. Mr. Victoria turned to her, an eyebrow raised in silent question, and Edith only stood to leave the drawing room for the foyer.

"Have you made arrangements, my dear?" Mr. Victoria marked his place in his novel and swiftly set it in the hidden drawer before shutting it with a snap. Mrs. Victoria laughed rather dryly, as if he had made some inside joke, before turning to Seras.

"Are you to tell me that you believe such an outfit is… presentable?" Seras stared, mouth agape. What, had her mother expected her to wear a ball gown? Her simple and subtlety beautiful gossamer evening dress would suit her just fine, and Seras thought that the sweetheart neckline even made it borderline suggestive.

"Of course!" Seras didn't bother to hide the fact that she was offended. Her mother only rolled her eyes.

"And I suppose it _is_ your silly quirks that piques the Count's interest, is it not?" Mrs. Victoria sighed with a disapproving shake of her head in a tone of voice that was better suited for addressing a petulant child than a well-read young lady.

Seras didn't have anything to say to that.

"Off we go then!" Mrs. Victoria flipped her shawl around her shoulders like one of those French women. "Come come, off we go!" Mrs. Victoria cheered as she returned to shuffling her family into their newly-washed coach, choosing to ignore Nora's pleas of setting a return time and Seras' request of a short toilet break before they set off.

Thankfully for Seras, the Count's London home in the Nottinghill* district wasn't terribly far from their Kensington* address. It was a fact that, in Seras' opinion, terribly distressed Mrs. Victoria far more than it should have. But they managed to arrive without being attacked by paupers who wanted to sell their gold chains for opium money, so all was well.

The Count's townhome was made of hand-cut cobblestone and was framed by imposing arched white windows. It took up the space of two regular townhomes, and looked utterly out of place in a neighborhood of starving artists and odd-job journalists. The windows glowed comfortingly in the fading light of the sun. The shadows seemed to be darker here, but that was probably because no one had come to light the lamp posts yet. Seras swore she heard her mother mumble something about "those lazy painters" under her breath.

Seras stumbled out of the coach just in time to see the Count throw open his front door with open arms, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Welcome, welcome to my home!" He bellowed, stepping down the elegantly long front staircase with his arms still outstretched. Had it been anyone else, the theatrics would've been way too dramatic for Seras… but since it was him, she laughed. He seemed to hear her and looked her way, teeth flashing and obnoxiously red duster dancing in a sudden gust of wind.

"We're honored to be here, My Lord." Mr. Victoria chose to ignore the excitement of the Count and gave a short, stiff bow. Mrs. Victoria curtsied daintily, and Edith copied her (albeit begrudgingly.) Seras glanced at her family as they prostrated, and then back up at the Count with a mischievous smile.

He matched her smile with a wicked grin, but did not speak.

"Will you stand out here until the storm begins? Really now, have the English no sense?" The Count floated down the last set of stairs to join the Victorias as they straightened. "Do you absurd Englishmen enjoy dancing in the rain, I wonder?" He grabbed Seras' arms to pull her a bit too forcefully toward the staircase, the same smile from before present. She ignored the fact that he had yet to greet the rest of her family – surely he'd do so in a moment, once they'd had theirs.

"Dancing in the rain? Why no, I'd rather not." Seras protested, wiggling her arm in his vice grip. He was holding a bit too tightly, and it was starting to hurt. She tried to keep smiling, but every time she tried to nudge her bicep free his grip would only tighten. But no one had noticed that – oh no, her mother was too busy basking in the splendor of the Count's home, her father absorbed in the clouds and the prospects of a thunder storm, and Edith…

Actually, Edith had noticed. Even though she was last in their little parade, from what Seras could tell by means of (what she hoped were) covert backward glances, Edith was watching them intently. She wasn't pleased, either. Seras forced herself away when a frown threatened to tug at her lips. She would allow no unhappiness tonight.

The Count pulled her, almost flaunted her, by the standing butler who looked anything rather than amused. She gasped when she stepped into the foyer – if you could even call it that. Everything was so grand, so obviously labored over for many years. The floor underneath them was made of shining white marble, the ornate French paneled walls sloping to an elegant cathedral ceiling complete with a glimmering, worth-a-fortune chandelier. Large, brightly colored oil paintings of lively duck hunts, tea parties, and smiling ladies eclectically lined the walls. Seras personally thought that the panels were decoration enough.

"I take it that you approve?" The Count hadn't released his hold in the slightest even though there was no need for it anymore. Seras squirmed a bit again, but her smile wasn't false even as she practically had to throw her bonnet and shawl to the unhappy butler before the Count dragged her across the entryway.

"Oh, your home is the most lovely I have ever seen!" Seras sighed dreamily as he guided them in to a spacious mahogany paneled hallway lined with slightly more serious oil paintings. Elegant Redcoats stared after her as they made their way to one of the middle doors, and Seras momentarily wondered if he had forgotten the rest of the his guests.

The Count laughed dryly. "Police Girl, this place is little more than a rat's nest lined with tinsel." He paused before he opened the door, his hand on the knob. Seras could hear muffled laughter and conversation from inside and automatically turned to the door.

"One day, Police Girl, I will be able to show you something of true beauty." His voice was low and laced with double meaning. Seras' eyes snapped to him, only to find that the Count had gotten close.

Too close.

Their chests almost brushed, and Seras could even faintly see the outline of his eyes though his darkened lenses. They seemed to be large and full of passion, framed with thick lashes, but unfortunately still hidden from sight. She could feel his breath caress her forehead when she craned her head to look him in the eye, for she barely made it up his shoulders in height. For a moment, they were on a different plane, one that consisted only of them.

But then footsteps and voices sounded at the end of the hallway – most likely her family finally catching up with them.

Seras broke gaze first and quietly took a step back, finally getting out of his hold. He had actually managed to wrinkle the sleeve of her evening dress. She looked to her family, and then to the Count. There was still a thin margin of time left.

"I would enjoy as much." Seras whispered as she carefully avoided his heavy gaze, which by speaking had instantaneously regained. She missed the odd, calculating smile that appeared for a moment and disappeared almost as soon as it came. Instead she saw the Count let go of the doorknob and smile graciously at her family.

"Now that my maid staff has bored you with the cloak room, I'd suggest it be time to join the rest of the party." Count laughed with that same gracious smile.

The Count swiftly opened the door with a little bow and held it in such a way until all had entered the room, the picture of a considerate gentleman. Immediately upon entering, she wished that he hadn't.

They entered some sort of cheery sitting room stuffed with expensive French sofas and oriental artwork, a gorgeous golden piano-forte played upon by a slender lady, and crowded to the brim with people who outclassed the Victorias by miles. Seras suddenly felt naked in last year's fashions; should she have pinned her curls tighter? Should she have worn a darker color in a different style? The lilac braided in to her hair became little more than wild weeds in comparison to the bejeweled combs that littered the other ladies' hair. As they stood in the doorway, Seras found her and her family the newest objects of scrutiny.

There were several young ladies Seras recognized from the _ton_ ; all of which just around her age and, in Seras' opinion, were better dressed, better looking, and undoubtedly gossiping about her and Edith. A cold, sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. Had the Count invited these other ladies here, or had they come with their families? She instinctively touched the mother-of-pearl brooch she had indulged in wearing that evening, her favorite gift from the Count. While it was possible that she wasn't the only lady he was courting? Up until this moment she thought she had been.

As silly as she knew it was, Seras couldn't help but feel the sting of betrayal.

The Count made his way through the Victoria throng to be visible and able to address the room. "And now the last of our friends have finally arrived!" He announced with another boisterous laugh that was chorused by everyone else present, prompting a few awkward chuckles from Mr. and Mrs. Victoria. Seras forced a smile, and didn't look at Edith. She was either going to be her charming self or an absolute grouch, and Seras couldn't bear to see the later any longer.

The little lady playing on the piano-forte had stopped when the Count began speaking, plunging the room in a momentary silence.

"I have been assured dinner will be served 'quite soon.' So let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?" The Count laughed again and everyone laughed with him. He turned and made toward the huddled mass of stiff black suits and gold watches surrounding the brandy table like a watering hole. Mr. Victoria followed suit.

Seras awkwardly stood by the door as her mother warbled off toward a set of better-dressed ladies, only to have her arm taken in to the familiar crook of Edith's. Seras looked to her sister in surprise, but Edith had her eyes on the group of young ladies with a beautiful, easygoing smile spread on her face. Seras blinked and followed her sister's gaze, trying to relax her features and give off the confidence that had seemed to flee from her as soon as the Count let her out of his grasp.

Of course that harpy Caroline Binsworth was there, along with three of her overdressed and all too pretty friends. They sat together in a tightly-knit cluster near the piano-forte, delicate French tea cups elegantly balanced on their laps and a tray of dutifully untouched sweetmeats on the table stand next to them. Their dresses were of the utmost spring fashion, Seras realized with a start, and they had made no excuses when it came to their jewelry. And even though they were well aware of the approaching Victoria sisters, they made no attempt in making room for them in their circle, and only offered snide smiles hidden behind feather fans and graceful gloved hands.

"Caroline Binsworth, how good it is to see you!" Edith addressed the one she knew best once they'd finally reached the group. They stood on the outside of the little circle, looking down on the girls who had barely bothered to look up at them.

"Edith, it's wonderful to see you. Where have you been all this time?" Caroline asked with a thin-lipped smile, her cheeks stretching painfully over her skeleton features. At Caroline's address, Seras noticed that the other three girls had finally found them worth their interest.

"Here and there, you do know how the Season goes." Edith said with that practiced, easy charm. Caroline nodded in response, and her smile stayed in place as she moved from Edith to Seras.

"And how do you do, Seras?" She asked in one those irritatingly polite voices that read that speaking to you was the last thing she wanted to do. But unlike with Edith, Seras could see a well-hidden dislike, malice even. "Are you acquainted with these ladies?" But at least she hadn't forgotten her manners.

"I am quite well, thank you. I hope you are the same! And yes, I have met them. How do you do, Miss Georgiana, Miss Alice, Miss Charlotte?" Well, she'd just have to be better than Caroline was, wouldn't she? Seras put a little extra effort in to her smile, making sure her dimples showed and her eyes sparkled a little, as if she was actually interested in what Caroline had to say. Her strategy seemed to work a bit, too – Caroline actually seemed to be a bit put out by Seras' display of kindness.

The other girls said their hello's with as few words as civilities dictated, and Seras wondered if they expected the sisters to stand outside their circle the entire time.

"How lovely your outfits are, dears." Edith cooed sweetly, laying a hand on the silky quarter sleeve of Caroline's peach evening gown. Seras retained her picture-worthy smile even when Georgiana and Alice started whispering and giggling while throwing what they thought were covert glances in the Victoria sisters' direction.

Seras sincerely wondered why the Count had invited girls like them. He had told her many times that he despised shallow, boring, judgmental people (even though he'd apparently stopped caring for their opinions long ago.)

"Why thank you Edith. And you look as stunning as ever." Caroline's voice wasn't as welcoming as it had been before she had to return Edith's compliment. Since no attempt to make room on either of the couches the ladies sat on was made, and no one had suggested they pull up a chair from another part of the room, Seras assumed that they were expected to end their conversation soon or just stand there and listen to their "betters" like they "were expected to."

"Yes, they are quite lovely tonight, indeed." Their strained attempt at conversation abruptly stopped, and Seras practically jumped around at the voice.

The smile melted from Edith's face. Seras', on the other hand, brightened. The Count was here, thank God! And then she realized what he had said, and an emotion in the pit of her stomach fouled her mood.

There was a rushed chorus of hellos and curtsies, which he of course waved away with an elegant flick of the wrist. He was wearing what was probably a priceless onyx thumb ring tonight.

"Why My Lord, you certainly are a charmer tonight!" Caroline gushed rather forwardly, leaning in her seat toward the nobleman. Seras' smile was quickly becoming hard to maintain when she saw the smile that the Count gave Caroline. He shouldn't have been smiling at all!

"Only to those who deserve it, Miss." Seras' jaw almost dropped. He should've been insulting them, he shouldn't have been flirting with them! What was going on? _What was going on?_ _**What was going on?**_

It was suddenly painful to be involved in the same conversation. Seras couldn't help it; she was hopelessly jealous and wanted his words to be directed toward _her_ , not Caroline, not Alice, not Georgiana. God, he hated those types of girls! Why was he showing them any sort of attention? She was his Police Girl, wasn't she?

"That is why I came to express how beautiful Miss Seras looks this evening." Seras' jaw actually did drop this time, along with the other girls'. Well, that had been forward to the point of almost being unacceptable. There was a short silence during which the Count didn't even try to fill or apologize for – his smug little smile told the story well enough.

"Also, dinner is served. Please join us in the dining room." He smile only brightened when Seras and Edith couldn't even give a response, and all the other ladies looked dumbly at him and passed the sisters without a word.

Seras bit her lip and looked to Edith as the other guests left the room, leaving them alone for a brief moment.

"Edith-" Seras began.

"Do you see what I see now, Seras?" Edith asked with a small voice, a tired voice. Her smile was sad, but at least she was smiling. "Well, perhaps not all of what I see. But perhaps a little of the wool before your eyes has been pulled away." Seras didn't know what to say to that, just like she hadn't known what to say to the Count.

"Come, we'll miss dinner if we dawdle too long, hmm?" Edith grabbed Seras' arm, pulling after the other guests who had by now been long in the dining room.

The Count's sitting room was just as elegant as his drawing room, complete with rich, heavy oriental curtains, Persian rugs, and a crackling fire. The sun had set hours ago, and the night had an unusual chill to it - probably from a passing storm, the Count had said. Like before the men sat together in huddled masses around the brandy. The older women gossiped on thick goose-down chairs around the imported Italian mantelpiece and under the watchful eye of a portrait of their very host, or at least someone who resembled him a great deal.

"It is a portrait of Count Dracul the First… commonly known as Vlad." the Count had explained with little embellishment and a coy smile. Seras had, of course, been the one to ask about it. She had been sitting with her mother and the older ladies because she just hadn't been able to take any more hint-filled questions and accusing glares from Caroline and her cronies. Apparently (and unfortunately) they were all big fans of the Count. Edith, the only lady that hadn't been complemented by the Count, was saved Caroline's wrath and was able to sit with her group.

Seras hadn't minded… not really, anyway…

"Your great grandfather then, my Lord?" She asked, biting her lip when she realized that yes, they were not in private and no, it wasn't acceptable to ask such prying questions to those who outclassed you. But the Count only smiled as he casually leaned against the cream marble mantle and gave the portrait a thoughtful glance.

"Something along those lines, I suppose." So that was a yes then… right? He and the Count in the picture were so similar! They could've been mistaken for brothers, twins even, had it not been for the ancient fur and armor draped over the pictured man. Seras looked from the portrait to the Count, and back to the portrait again. They were too similar, aand the current Count had that awful smile on his face again. They shared that smile, she realized with a start.

"Excuse me, My Lord." It was Edith. What a surprise! Seras blinked. The Count's smile faded slightly.

"Yes?" Well, at least he was responding to her. The Count reached for the glass of brilliantly red wine he'd set on the mantle earlier and gave it a thoughtful swish before taking a sip. For whatever reason, Edith lost whatever color she had a moment before and was suddenly paler than a ghost.

"Might you be so kind as to direct me to the powder room?" She asked after a moment, her voice quieter than before. The Count smiled unkindly.

"Ah yes, it seems to me that you are in need of a touch of powder." Seras gasped and opened her mouth to rebuke his rude comment only for him to wave her off. Seras glowered. How dare he!

"How can-"

"Yes, I am indeed, so if you'd be so kind…" Edith cut off Seras so quickly Seras didn't know what to make of it. Why was Edith avoiding the confrontation? The Count only laughed, causing the older women to laugh even though they didn't understand just what was so funny about the situation.

"The powder room, as you English so delicately refer to it, is the last on the left." His response was prompt, all too curt and too straightforward for Edith to feel comfortable. But after a stiff thank you managed without making eye contact, Edith turned on her heel and tried to leave the room with as much grace she could muster. It was hard to be graceful when you were shaking so bad you were afraid you would fall over.

After she left the drawing room, the Count pulled a high-backed leather chair to the fire and joined the group of ladies.

"Police Girl, I assume your all too inquisitive mind wonders why so many generations of my heritage share the same namesake?" While the older ladies gaped at such an informal greeting, Mrs. Victoria looked downright excited by the fact that her daughter was such a favorite.

For the moment, Edith was forgotten.

She moved swiftly and silently as Sir Integra had taught her, her skirts in one hand and her boots in the other. The heels were too heavy, Sir Integra had explained, and would give her away too easily. Apparently the beast had exceptional hearing, like that of a bat's.

Edith shuddered at the thought before she reached the too-tall last door on the right and gently pulled it open, revealing a relatively used library lined with deep oak bookcases and matching glossy furniture. It was all tied together with a massive self-portrait of the Count watching her every move from over the fireplace at the other end of the library.

Edith tiptoed into the garish room, carefully avoiding the gawking head of the stuffed cheetah rug, and set her shoes next to it with a grimace. She had never been a fan of big game, nor any sort of hunting for that matter.

On her most recent visit with Sir Integra, Edith had told her of the dinner invitation, and Sir Integra had seen a chance. Over the past several weeks, Sir Integra had made it clear that the Count was not a good person – not even a person, actually. He was a literal monster who had taken an uncomfortable liking to her sweet sister, of all people, but just what type of monster he was hadn't been specified.

And that was why she was here tonight.

Sir Integra and her retainer, Walter, apparently had a hunch about what the Count really was.

"A demon fit only for the ninth ring of hell." Sir Integra occasionally spit out when he came up in conversation. Okay, so their hunch was a bit more in-depth than that, but that was beside the point.. It was up to her to use this opportunity to gather clues to report back to the Hellsing manor so Sir Integra and Walter would know just exactly what they were dealing with! So they could help and protect Seras from that awful _thing_!

"What does he want my sister for?" It wasn't the first time she'd brought up the question and wouldn't be the last, either.

Sir Integra sighed, her exhale layered with more irritation than concern. "As I've told you countless times before, nothing can be taken as entirely certain. However," Sir Integra folded her hands on the long, varnished tabletop decorated by unfinished paperwork and applications. Edith perked up – there usually wasn't a "however."

"However, she is alive."

It was so blunt Edith wasn't able to take it in all the way.

"E-excuse me, Sir?" Seriously, _what_?

"This is not the first time the Count has been in England, Miss Victoria, but it is the first time he has been under this pseudonym. He was most acquainted with my grandfather, who in his journals wrote that after the Count took a certain liking to lady she was found dead in her bed not soon after."

"And so because Seras has not yet been killed…?" It was hard for her to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

"Your sister's predicament is quite different." Sir Hellsing broke her off, no doubt sensing the oncoming flood. "My grandfather recorded only one other instance of the Count taking enough interest in a lady to court her, but in your sister's circumstance it seems he has not resorted to seduction."

"Or, he's not had the opportunity to do so." Edith remarked under her breath, thinking back to their meeting in the library some time ago. Sir Hellsing raised an eyebrow, but didn't press further. She watched the young girl for a moment, waiting for her to say something, and only picked up her fountain pen once more when she proved mute. Their meetings always took place during her paperwork catch-up hour, the only hour she could afford to give to the girl.

"He fancies her." Sir Hellsing had just finished signing "Wingates" on a document when Edith piped up again.

"Pardon?"

"The Count. He… he actually fancies her… and why he attempts no seduction, even when they are alone so often… I believe he does not wish to ruin her. Could it be that he cares for her? " Edith laughed a little, more at herself and the irony in the absolute mess of a situation. Sir Integra could only stare at the crumbling girl before her before forcing herself to deftly push her paperwork off the document of a certain nobleman's house plan - a house plan she may or may not have illegally obtained through bribery.

"And Nora, she invites him in every day, My God, and I can no longer-"

Sir Hellsing spoke quickly to cut the girl off. "Now, to begin with…"

Sir Hellsing's words and warnings still rang clear in Edith's mind.

"You will need to gain access to the first floor library, a motion that I believe shouldn't prove terribly difficult." Edith glanced over the towering bookcases of leather bound texts with a certain degree of relief. If this wasn't a library, she didn't know what else could possibly account for one. She stole another glance at the cheetah rug.

Well, maybe a trophy room.

"There is a secret door, entrance, loose floorboard, wall panel, _something_ that will lead you to a hidden staircase that leads to a basement. You are to thoroughly examine it and report back." Sir Hellsing had told her ever so matter-of-factly. "Our conclusion on his identity rests on the information found in the basement – information you will bring back to us."

Edith tucked a stray dark brown lock behind her ear as she scanned over the room for any obvious panels or cellar doors, and frowned. The room was large and would take much of the time she didn't have to look over. And why was _she_ , the inexperienced, worried sister, doing the most dangerous work of all? She trudged to the fireplace and stuck her head in to look up the chimney.

While Sir Hellsing sat warm and safe in her pretty little estate, she was lurking around in the literal nest of a monster with no time to spare! Edith pulled back from the fireplace with a huff, hoping she hadn't gotten any soot on her pretty baby blue evening gown. She adored the piece! She looked up to glare at the Count's portrait. Why couldn't he have just stayed away from England? No one except for Seras wanted him here anyway.

 _Grr….rrrr…._

Edith immediately stiffened, her pupils dilated and her body going to a fight-or-flight response. Oh… oh god no.. it couldn't be…

 _Bark! Bark bark bark!_

She gripped the cool stone of the mantle, too petrified to look behind her at what she knew was there and hoping on to the pitiful, childish hope that maybe if she ignored it, it'd go away. There was another growl, and she instinctively knew it wasn't going anywhere. However, it was best that she should be.

Edith forced herself to first, let go of the mantle. Then to slowly turn around, one foot forward at a time… good…. And, dear God. It was the stuff of her deepest, realest nightmares. And that growl… she remembered hearing it outside her window some nights, as if it had been trying to keep her up all night in fear…

A hellhound stood before her. Edith had never seen one before to be able to correctly identify it against another hound, but it was unmistakable. Deep, dark black fur that covered a muscular, wolven frame that came above her waist. It boasted oversized claws, quivering fangs and crimson red eyes. It cocked its head to the side, and several disgusting other eyes opened along the rest of its body.

Edith gasped and took a step back, the back of her heading rubbing against the stone of the mantle. Better make that several crimson red eyes.

How could she ever have been so foolish as to think that the Count didn't have some second line of defense? She was in the literal lair of the beast, how could she have thought it would've been so easy? How could Sir Hellsing ever have thought it would've been so easy?

The dog stood in front of her, salivating like a rabid beast leering at its easy prey. And maybe she was his prey. Maybe hellhounds ate mortals for supper; perhaps they tasted quite nice.

Edith hoped to God that wasn't the case, and clutched at the silver crucifix hidden in her bosom for comfort. She managed to pull it out from her blouse and brought it to her lips – and then a funny thing happened.

The hellhound growled, but took a step back.

Edith started, the crucifix still at her lips. The hound glowered back up at her, but didn't show any new signs of aggression or hostility. Slightly empowered, Edith took another step forward. The Hound took one back. Another step forward, another step back.

Eventually the dog wasn't even salivating anymore. It closed a few of its gruesome extra eyes, and even had the indecency to look a bit bored of their game. Edith looked from the hellhound, who sat on the cheetah rug with a certain degree of ownership, to the door. She had to leave while there was still a chance!

Edith gave her crucifix one last kiss for good luck and made a mad dash to the door, inwardly thanking God when she felt the cool brass knob under her fingers, and then the hard oak door against her back. And then she couldn't stop running. All Edith knew was that she had to get out of that house. Oh, God, was it following her? She didn't dare look back! She threw herself down that damn long hallway, almost crying when she heard wisps of the party still going on in the sitting room, crying at the unfairness of it all. She had stood of the precipice of death while they enjoyed after-dinner drinks not even a few hundred feet away…

 _Was it following her?_

 _Was it following her?_

 _Would it get her?_

Edith burst out of the hall and into the brightly lit foyer, pushing past surprised servants and the nonplussed butler, and finally out the thick oak door and down that awful staircase to the cold pavement below. The cobblestone was ice on the soles of her feet, but she didn't stop until she was hidden in the shadows of the alley in between the Count's townhome and his neighbors, hugging her arms protectively around herself. The air was muggy and smelled like stale beer and urine. She remembered she had forgotten her boots in the Count's library and consciously shifted her weight on the cold stone under her feet, but thanked God that at least now she was safe. She resolved to stay outside, no matter how uncomfortable she became.

She was safe from that monster, that terrible demon… and she hadn't even found anything to show for it. Edith's shoulders sagged. Oh, god, now what would Sir Hellsing do? Would she still help Seras anyway? Edith sighed and let go of the street light, looking around rather ashamedly. Couldn't she do anything right?

And then, she realized with a flush of sheer panic and shame, that she had left her family in that accursed home with the hellhound! Her breath reverted in to quick hitches. Oh, oh how could she have just run by without telling them? Just how great of a coward was she?

But, she heard no screaming. Perhaps there was still time to-

A light tap on her shoulder.

She stiffened and turned, a glare planted firmly on her pretty, fair face. Edith wasn't in the mood tonight. She had had just about enough, and she still couldn't get that hellhound out of her mind…

A rather handsome but haggard youth stood not much older than her stood in front of her, a slight grin on his face. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at his apparel – a muddied farmer's outfit half in shreds? She took a hesitant step back, a step away. The youth didn't seem to be phased.

"Didn't want ya, did he? Didn't need ya after all?" The youth asked, crudely jerking his thumb in the direction of the Count's town house. His harsh, uncultured accent matched his apparel. Edith opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that no, she was expected back inside in a moment, but the youth beat her to it. It didn't occur to her to ask how he knew she had been with the Count at all, or how he'd appeared in to the dead-end alley with her.

"Why else would ya be out here? Better this way. Easier this way." He was asking himself more than he was asking her. "I s'pose it'd be time then. Hungry anyway, y'know." The youth was still talking to himself, and Edith began to slowly back toward the stoop… only for her forearm to be caught in an iron grip.

The youth took a step forward, the moonlight illuminating his disgusting, unnatural copper eyes and the gleam of his...fangs.

 _Fangs!_

A vampire! She was face to face with a vampire, of all things! Edith took a frantic step back, crying out when she stepped on a piece of broken glass and effectively lost her footing. Oh, just her luck! Sharp bits of glass bit in to her legs and backside, opening little cuts that blotched her grown red. But that was the absolute least of her worries.

"Don't scream, miss, or I'll kill all those in the fancy house." Edith gaped at him, close mouthed and just barely biting back a scream. God, her family was in there! She couldn't unleash this thing on them! She couldn't sick a monster on them; that was what she had been trying to avoid this entire time!

The thing, the vampire, didn't waste time in taking advantage of the situation and her pause, and with an ear-to-ear grin stepped on her skirts as she tried to get up and pulled her up by the wrist hard enough to break it. Edith's breaths came quickly once again, and though she was desperately trying to put up a fight she was easily overpowered and pinned against the cold stone wall. Her eyes widened.

"Please. Please no." She whimpered, trying to keep quiet for fear of what he'd consider a "scream." But of course the fresh-faced vampire ignored her pleas and freed one of his hands to roughly jerk her head to the side, revealing her elegant swan neck. She flinched when he gave her silver crucifix a playful flick before ripping it like a thread between nimble fingers.

"I appreciate your choice in jewelry, Miss, but it's a bit out of style." He leaned back a bit, a disarming smile on his lips. Edith felt the sting of betrayal, though in the back of her mind she knew she had no one to blame.

"Don't worry Miss, I won't be long, no… I swear not to take too much o'er time." His breath was cold on her ear and his lips ghosted south, landing on the nape of her neck. Something sharp teasingly scraped the skin over her jugular before-

Pain.

Sudden. Intense. Excruciating. All-enveloping.

And in that time, she realized that he wouldn't kill anyone inside. He knew of the Count. He wouldn't dare. How foolish, how gullible she was – but in hindsight, she had proven to herself that she wasn't a coward. Had there been an actual threat to those inside, she would have prevented it.

She supposed she could be happy with that little comfort.

Finally, Edith screamed.

* * *

Seras noticed the Count and her father both frown at the same time, the former on an entirely different level of severity than the later. With the sudden cease in conversation, it was clear that everyone had heard the scream. There was a pause, and then:

"What in the world?"

Seras grew worried. "Where is Edith…?"

Another pause.

"My God…"

" **Goddamn him!** " the Count shouted, turning with such haste that he spilled the wine from his glass on to the bosom of one of Caroline's friends who had been standing a bit too close to be polite. She screamed in embarrassment and her group gathered flocked to her, but the Count easily pushed past them with a look so terrible no one dared say a word to admonish him. The Count threw the door open with a violent bang against the wall and ran down the hall, Mr. Victoria and the other men struggling to keep up with him.

"Edith! Edith!" Seras followed on the heels of the men, biting her lip when she heard her father's call, as he hoped Edith would pop out of one of the other rooms. He sounded so desperate, so fearful.

The Count led them through the dining room, through a door way, and in to the kitchen where groups of obviously concerned servants milled about, one group clamoring around the side door to the alley in an anxious heap and the other surrounding a large servant woman sitting on an overturned metal basin who looked about ready to go into a swoon. The Count, the men, and Seras clustered in to the tight place but didn't garner too much attention, much to the Count's annoyance.

"What has happened here? Stop your blubbering!" The Count rose his voice only slightly, but the sheer power and force behind his tone was enough to gain the total attention of the kitchen staff. The swooning woman cried out as she pushed herself off the basin, leaning on the shoulder of one of the pastry chefs.

"My Lord, I was nearest the door when there was the most awful bloodcurdling scream and looked out to see a person in the arms of the other…" She paused, as if unsure of what to say next.

"Good God," one of the men hissed. Mr. Victoria and Seras were silent.

"The hell do you mean by that?" The Count snapped, unamused with the woman's roundabout words.

"Oh no, I do not believe it was _that_ thank Heavens!" The woman should her head back and forth as if trying to erase the thought out of her mind. "Oh no, no, it did not seem to be such. But when I looked behind to call for help and looked back, they-they had disappeared!" The woman seemed to have been put in to a state by their ghostly departure. The Count frowned and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. After a moment, he turned back to the men and Seras.

"Gentlemen, please form a rescue party and search the streets. They shan't have been able to go far. One man must take the ladies home, while Mr. Victoria and I will leave for the inspector." The Count was strangely composed for the amount of emotion shown only a few moments ago.

"The inspectors, at this time of night?" One of the men spat. It was true, it was already half-past one in the morning. Seras bristled at the implied accusation toward the Force… but knew that it wasn't without its faults.

"That is why Mr. Victoria and I will be fetching them." The Count snapped back as he pushed his way through the group to leave the kitchen. It was true – as foreign royalty, there would be no one who would dare refuse him, and as a former high-ranking member of the Force Mr. Victoria would be able to pull more than a few strings. Seras reached out and grabbed his sleeve as he brushed by her, stopping him abruptly. It would have been sweet, how acutely he had noticed, had it been under different circumstances.

"I will not leave." She wouldn't. He couldn't make her, and even if he forced her in to a carriage she'd only walk back after it dropped her off.

"Seras Victoria." Her father warned, no room for argument in his tone.

"I never asked you to." The Count effectively shut up both her and her father. "Please busy yourself in the drawing room." The Count's tone was curt as he pulled her father away and out of the kitchen, neatly flanked by the rest of the men. Seras left soon after, and made her way to the sitting room where she found an empty armchair. The rest of the ladies had been taken to their carriages, and the men had gone out into the night. Her father didn't say another word to her.

She sank in to the cool, sleek leather arm chair, staring into the fire. For a while, she couldn't think. She wasn't sure how long she had just been like that, but she knew it was long enough that everyone had gone and a servant had walked in to change the log. Seras refused to think that… that Edith could've been so violated… while she had just been _sitting_ here…

Oh, _God_ …

Her fingers clenched around the armrests, and the answer came to her so quickly she almost had whiplash. Just what the hell was she doing, sitting here like some useless doll? Didn't she want to be a policewoman? Didn't she have more pride than this? This moping certainly wasn't going to help Edith at all!

Seras stood with a shaky resolve, promptly left the sitting room, and made for the front entrance. There were few servants around, and the ones she did happen to see only gave her looks of varying degrees of sympathy and pity. Seras forced herself to ignore them. To acknowledge their feelings, their emotions, would only make it harder for her to separate herself from her own and look at the scenario with a clear and rational mind.

The front was brightly lit, but the alley was suitably dark. There was a dim light in the very back, no doubt from the kitchen door. Seras slowly stepped in, looking around with wide eyes. Broken ale bottles… piles of rotting trash… broken glass…she jumped when a small animal scurried over the toes of her boots. And, not to mention, rats.

This was where Edith had been assaulted. Seras felt her resolve crumbling, fast.

How horrible it must've been… how absolutely terrified she must had been…

"Oh, Lord God, _please,"_ Seras choked out, shaking her folded hands at the sky in a desperate plea for help. "God, oh God, please find her, please oh please…" Seras' words were forced out in between wet sobs and hiccups, her throat raw and her body shaking with fading adrenaline. She slowly felt the growing fog leech the heat from her body, her fingers as numb as her mind.

"Our Father… Who art in Heaven… Hallowed be thy name…Thy-Thy kingdom come…" Seras whispered, wringing her cold, damp hands together again and again. But she couldn't finish the prayer. She blindly stumbled in the dark and leaned against one of the cold stone walls of the alley.

"Edith…. Edith…" Seras' voice was raw and cracked, and her knees started to shake. She slowly lowered her hands, her arms listlessly falling to her aide. She felt cold and empty, emotionally drained but still aware that she couldn't check out no matter how much of a comfort that would be.

A large gloved hand gripped her shoulder, offering a small bit of solace. Seras looked over her shoulder at her sympathizer, and wasn't terribly surprised when she saw it was the Count even though he had supposedly left with the others.

"Why are you here?" Seras whispered as her teeth started to chatter. She hugged her arms to her body, the cold of the night finally starting to set in. She stiffened for a moment when the hand on her shoulder tailed down to her arm and drew her to him, much closer than they should have been. But it was dark and late at night, and there was no one in sight. They were completely alone - it was safe.

"Had I come later, would I have had to search for two missing sisters?" His voice was dark and nostalgic as if it came from a forgotten dream – comforting. His question could have been made out to be some sick joke, but it wasn't meant to be taken that way. He was serious, Seras could tell. His grip on her was unyielding, as if he believed she too would disappear, and his voice was as solemn as she had ever heard it. He pulled her even closer, now bringing her side against his broad chest.

She felt her resolve crumble at the comforting contact, of the comfort he seemed to offer her. This night… this entire ordeal was too much for her to handle. She felt totally helpless and totally frustrated, scared and utterly terrified. The Count began to run his hand up and down the length of her arm in soothing strokes.

Then the dams broke loose. The tears fell quickly, hot and unforgiving. Her shoulders began to shake, but he didn't stop his comfort.

Seras turned and latched on to the Count like a lifeline, throwing her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against the soft maroon silk of his shirtvest. He smelled like smoke and iron. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn't tell if it was from stress or the cold, and it seemed that the only thing she had control over was her ability to keep herself from breaking out in sobs. She had already taken too much of a liberty with him, and refused to ruin his shirt vest with her disgusting snot and tears.

She sniffled after a moment, still shaking, and braved a glance up at the Count. She gasped when she met his dark eyeglasses, his face displaying a sort of thoughtful expression, as if considering something. Seras looked down, ashamed of her actions, but not sorry for them. She regretfully began to loosen her hold on him, when suddenly his strong arms wrapped tightly around her and lured her in against his chest once again.

Seras took in another shaky breathe and then finally, a sob. And then the tears came once again.

They stayed like that for some time with the heavy black cloak the Count wore wrapped around them, never speaking, trying to maintain the silence that held together their fragile, intimate embrace. They only let go to walk around to the front of the Count's townhome when horses and calls were sounded, alerting them that the search party had returned.

No one gave any mind that Seras and the Count had been alone together all that time, and greeted them together. There were bigger things to worry about. The anxious group kept vigil in the Count's sitting room until the inspectors came to report in the wee hours of the morning.

Edith had not been spotted, had not been found, and had not left a trace.

Edith was absolutely nowhere to be found.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

Notes:

\- The Cult of Domesticity, aka the Cult of True Womanhood, was the common belief that the woman's place was in the home raising children and attending to her household. If she wasn't a true woman and didn't want kids or wanted to, gasp, _work_ , she was probably crazy or something and you should get her checked out. Seriously.

It's pretty upscale now, but back in the nineteenth century when it was first established Nottinghill was known as the home of artists and writers and not necessarily noblemen, as compared to the fashionable, upper-middle to upper class district of Kensington.

Ahehehe… absence makes the heart grow fonder?

I still need to respond to some reviews! In response to Mattieu's question, the Count resembles Alucard more than "Vlad," although you could picture the man in the painting that the Count was showing Seras as Vlad. :)

Also, I've gotten several question regarding the rule to inviting a vampire into the home, and while I've looked in to whether or not the vampire has to be invited in by the owner or anyone in the household, I still haven't found a clear answer. Folklore tends to differ a lot, I guess. If anyone has a link they'd like to point me toward, that'd be great!

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, I love hearing your opinons!

As always, I'll see you next time!

Della


	7. VII

Disclaimer: No, I don't own _Hellsing_ , sorry to disappoint.

* * *

 **VII.**

The week passed as quickly as a day. There was a constant string of investigators, worried family members, concerned friends, and nosy neighbors trickling in and out of the Victoria home at all hours of the day. Unfortunately, no ne seemed content to simply leave Seras be. There were so many questions that needed to be answered, and half the time her mother wasn't stable enough to answer without bursting in to inconsolable, incomprehensible sobs.

A majority of the wonderful job of dwelling on that horrible night was left to Seras and her really didn't mind talking so much as long as it would help Edith find her way home. Their questions helped her from drowning in her own misery, but Seras had begun to get the unnerving feeling that the authorities didn't have any other leads.

The Count had apparently been held at the station for questioning for several days earlier in the week, but was released and cleared of suspicion. The other members of the dinner party, as well as the Count's staff, had been questioned as well. Although the police kept her mostly in the dark, she feared that the case was proving to be a difficult one.

"And were you aware of any other company your sister kept outside the people previously mentioned, Miss Victoria?" Mr. Albertson, an inspector, had worked under her father when he first started on the force. He knew her family well enough to be concerned enough to have bags under his eyes.

"No." What was he trying to insinuate? Her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to say something else when a gentle hand rested on her forearm.

"I believe that is enough for today, Inspector." Pip had abandoned whatever it was that he did the day he'd been informed of Edith's disappearance to stay with the family. His claim on the guest bedroom went uncontested even though his parents still lived next door, and he'd barely left her side since. It was something Seras was both thankful for and plagued by.

"Of course." Mr. Albertson nodded. Today, Seras was very thankful for Pip's constant interventions.

"I am quite grateful for your time, Miss Victoria. My deepest condolences lie with you and your family," Oh _God_ , he was talking like Edith was dead, "and I swear that we shall work to our fullest power to put your heavy hearts to rest." Mr. Albertson tucked away his notepad into an inner pocket of his standardized force jacket with a sad, tight-lipped smile. After the usual exchange of handshakes and curtsies, Mr. Albertson left Seras and Pip alone in the drawing room.

"Well," Pip sighed as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, "at least he seems dedicated." A quick strike of a match and then the smell of tobacco dominated the room.

Seras coughed with a frown, and Pip actually pulled his cigarette from his lips.

"I apologize _, ma cher_." She always threw a fit when he smoked in the house, and he always laughed her off and did it anyway. But this time, Seras only sighed and slumped in to her chair.

The force had already interrogated her twice before– they called it "tying up loose ends," but Seras knew enough about the Force to know what they were really doing. She supposed that after four days they were trying to fill in some holes, see if she had changed her story, or had new information. Pip had been there with her for all three, and while his constant hovering had gotten on her nerves before, she always appreciated his presence then.

"It's alright." Seras said quietly. Pip savored one last huff before pinching it out with his bare fingertips. He grinned when Seras flinched.

"Tis almost six o'clock, _mon chou_ … will you not eat today?" She could tell Pip was a more than a little worried about her, but oh well. She hadn't had much of a stomach for the past week, and it wasn't as if her family actually sat down to meals anymore.

Between receiving sympathetic guests, worried family members, reporters, and inspectors, their family had barely enough time to say hello to each other in the mornings, let alone break bread. Besides, to actually sit down at the table and to see Edith's empty chair…

Seras bit her lip, shaking her head at the thought. It was still too soon to be thinking like that.

"I believe I shall retire for the evening." Seras rose from her chair with as much grace as she could muster which, judging from the look on Pip's roguish face, wasn't very much. It was still early.

"Seras…." Pip started to say something, but stopped and looked away. Seras bit back a frown. Did she really look that pathetic? _Was_ she really this pathetic?

 _No,_

A voice whispered inside of her. But what could she do? What could she possibly do to help? The list was small and only shortening, and that fact dismayed her to the point where she couldn't bear to remain aware of it. Ignorance was most certainly bliss. Seras was tired, oh so tired. She couldn't remember when she had last gotten a full night's rest without a nightmare, and even she could tell that her body was beginning to show signs of malnourishment. Her illness certainly wasn't getting better, and had seemed to only take a turn for the worse. She knew she had to eat but in a twisted, sadistic way she accepted the pain hunger brought as a sort of penance.

Though just what she was repenting, Seras didn't know. It was easier not to think about it.

"Good night, Pip."

"Good night, _ma cher_." The usual kisses and hugs were exchanged, and Seras excused herself from the drawing room, escaped upstairs, and locked herself in her bedroom. Through the vents she could hear snippets of her father's conversation with Mr. Albertson, and her mother's meeting with one of their concerned neighbors.

It was irritating, Seras thought as she forced open the buttons of her dress, that the family in mourning was expected to receive visitors and comfort other people. Of course, they weren't technically in mourning yet.

Seras sighed and threw the black cotton dress* she had adorned in a crumpled pile in the corner of her room before topping it with her corset and petticoats. Some may have criticized her drab and dreary color choice, but Seras couldn't have forced herself to wear some bright, jovial color as if nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.

She lit a thick candle at her bedside and sat on her bed, pleasantly sinking in to the white goose down comforters. It was almost the beginning of summer, but she was always so cold. Sometimes after a nightmare she'd wake in a cold sweat, yet utterly chilled to the bone and shivering. Perhaps it was simply from fear.

Seras threw a thoughtful glance at her window. She hadn't slept with the windows open for quite some time, perhaps not even since last autumn.

The sky was a soft peachy orange, and the nightingales had only just begun their song. Traffic was beginning to thin and quiet down, and the wind could be heard brushing through the leaves of the sidewalk-trees below. All in all, it was a gorgeous evening, and Seras just couldn't resist – she rolled off the bed and made her way to the window, unlatching it with a smile and being greeted by the delicious scent of…

 _Garlic._

Seras frowned, and sniffed again. Why was the smell of garlic so strong only by her window, and not coming from the outside or inside?

After a few minutes of searching, Seras found several cloves of garlic covertly tied to the bottom of the window and literally mashed and smeared in the corners. It was relatively old and - to her disgust - starting to mold, and took a good twenty minutes to effectively wipe out. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had planted it there, but why Edith would've bothered to go to such extremes Seras couldn't fathom.

Seras couldn't help but blame it on that Sir Hellsing person. In the weeks before her disappearance they had been meeting very frequently, and since then Edith had nothing but superstitious Protestant malarkey in her head! Seras hadn't mentioned anything to the inspectors though, because as much as she distrusted Sir Hellsing, the woman hadn't had anything to do with her sister being abducted in an alleyway. It would be unfair to subject her to the misfortune that came with being put under investigation, and Edith had seemed to hold the woman in high regard.

Either way, Seras found finding the garlic to be comforting. It was like Edith was still with her, playing tricks on her like she did when they were little. Seras bolstered her window with an extra copy of _Great Expectations_ , and finally settled down in her sheets for the night. Maybe she'd finally find a peaceful sleep this time around.

* * *

She hadn't always been such a deep sleeper, but tonight everything seemed… different.

Seras awoke akin to a swimmer breaking the surface, murky and unfocused. She knew that something unusual had woken her, something out of the ordinary. But what? She shifted her head on her pillow and looked to the right. Her window was still open, allowing the rays of the full moon to filter through the sheer curtains. That was pretty normal. She looked to the left, and saw the Count looming over her bedside.

Oh.

That might've been it.

That was when she knew it was a dream. Her vision was clear and she felt totally coherent – but the Count's eyes were _red_. Blood red, if you wanted to be cliché about it. He was all dressed up in such a silly outfit too, some odd leather and wolf-hide combination that was much better suited for the mountains of Romania than the streets of London.

A large black dog sat at her bedside as well with his muzzle resting on her silky sheets, his startling canines twisted into a mock of a grin. Seras also found that she could move her head, but was unable to speak or move or do anything else, really.

Yes, this was definitely a dream! She only hoped it wouldn't morph into a nightmare… not with the Count here, at least.

"Seras Victoria…" A cold but soft, ungloved hand stroked her cheek before it slowly slithered across her face, under her chin, and found reprieve at the nape of her neck. The pad of a thumb rubbed soft circles over her delicate skin, and she thanked God for allowing her such an amazing dream even though it had longed crossed inappropriate. Who was she to judge! Seras looked away from him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded and dreamy under his touch.

"You disgust me." His biting tone was like a pale of icy cold water. An uncomfortably sharp nail bit into the skin it once caressed. The dog growled softly, as if in agreement.

Her eyes flew to his once more, and she could see the truth in them. They were on fire, drawing her in and daring never to let go. Seras gulped and tried to speak but – surprise, surprise – found that she could not. She was trapped, and totally at his mercy.

"I once held you in higher regard than to become a shut-in in the face of transgression." His nails trailed from her neck, over her cheek, and finally to the roots of her hair. They uncomfortably scraped over her scalp, and Seras half-heartedly wondered if she'd find little scratches in the morning. She wanted to argue with him, but found that she couldn't. What he said was true.

Seras hadn't given up, but somewhere down the line she had given in. She had stopped trying – come to think of it, when had she even started to try? All Seras had been doing for the past week was crying, sleeping, starving herself, and brooding. There had been no action, no attempt to find her own sister.

Something sunk to the pit of her stomach. Good God, just what kind of a sister was she? And Seras wanted to be a police woman, of all things? She couldn't even help with her own sister's disappearance, she couldn't even manage to look over her emotions to face facts and the possible solutions that could come with them.

Edith could've been raped, murdered, sold, married, or God only knew what else. But there were places she could go, people she could speak to who may have answers whether she wanted to hear them or not. Seras looked away in shame. She had become a shut-in, everything the Count said was true.

Come to think of Him…

Seras dared to face him again, only to see his entire expression had changed. It mirrored the thoughtful one he had shown her only once before, in the alleyway the night of Edith's disappearance, and it both startled and flattered her. His eyes were strangely… soft, and his lips were twisted into a semblance of a smile. The dog panted, looking from Seras to his master and then back again.

"Seras. My Seras Victoria." He spoke after holding her gaze for a moment, this time gently ruffling her hair. "Perhaps redemption is still within your grasp." Seras blinked. He stared at her for another long moment before casting a glance at her open window. His countenance darkened then, and with it the shadows of the room itself. Seras suddenly felt suffocated, choked by his very presence.

The Count of her dreams was certainly no mere man.

He seemed to be warding something away, casting a warning or offering a dare. His hand fell from her hair and gently stroked her cheek again, affectionately thumbing little circles round and round as he stared out in to the night.

"I will see no that harm will come to you."

Harm? Harm from what, from whom? Was he protecting her from the same person who attacked Edith? And that begged the question of whether or not he was acquainted with the group responsible. But the room was so warm, the fire was roaring, and she was still so tired…

Those words were the last thing she heard him say before her lids grew too heavy, the dog's panting too loud, and the Count's touch too cold. But she was still able to feel the heat of his lips on hers before she drifted away.

* * *

It was the high noon sun that finally woke her.

Unsurprisingly there had been no knock at her door, and breakfast was not waiting for her on her writing desk as had been the custom for years prior to last week. But Seras couldn't blame anyone. With the way she had been acting for the past few days, it was a miracle that they had decided to leave her alone instead of taking up Pip's surveillance campaign.

She was still going to opt for black out of respect though, and no one was about to change her mind about that. After pulling her hair in to a respectable braid and covering her not-so-delicate handiwork with her trusty mourning bonnet, Seras deemed herself ready to go out and face the world again. There was a newfound sense of resolution, a newborn determination welling up inside her. Although she felt rather silly thinking about it, she blamed her sudden change of heart on the dream.

Her dream-Count had been right: she was disgusting. Her submission, her acquiescence was revolting. She had so much more to offer, so much more to give, and by God she was going to do whatever she could to help find her sister! Seras marched out of her room with a skip in her step, expertly tip-toeing by her mother's open chamber door and the cracked door to her father's study.

She slipped out the front door without so much as a word to her family – though it wasn't as if they knew she had gone anywhere anyway. True, if ( _when_ ) they found her bed empty and her room in an awful state with the windows still wide open from last night, there would be a lot of jumping to conclusions and probably an inspector summons.

Seras softly shut the door behind her. Well, she'd just have to cross that bridge when she got to it. That was responsible… or, Seras liked to pretend that it was. But just as she was hopping down the front steps with a strong sense of urgency, someone just _had_ to call out to her from behind.

"Seras?"

And of course that someone just _had_ to be Pip, of all people. Seras almost cursed out loud as she turned around to face the Frenchman, forcing a nonchalant smile that probably looked more constipated than easygoing. Pip was leaning against the brick under the window nearest the staircase, conveniently out of the sight and with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Seras, where are you off to?" Pip raised an eyebrow and pushed himself off the wall, taking a few steps toward her. Seras kept smiling, hoping that it didn't look as bad as it felt.

"Ah, well, I was in dire need of fresh air." Oh bother, she'd forgotten to call for the cab driver! And now since Pip was here and growing more suspicious by the minute, she'd have to get on with getting her "fresh air" rather quickly… even if that meant she'd have to get fresh air all the way to Nottinghill by foot.

Pip snorted. "Do you believe we French to be senseless? Beauty and foolishness are not simultaneous, as you should very well know."

Seras laughed nervously and tried to flick away the accusation and back-handed compliment with a wave of her hand. "Oh, I'd never…"

"Perhaps I may be of assistance, if I was only aware of what the business entails." He threw the hand-rolled cigarette in to the mud of the street a few feet away and watched its flimsy wisps of smoke rise. He met Seras' questioning gaze evenly, and held it until she finally had to look away. He won.

"Well then, if you would be so kind to call for the coach, I would be much obliged." Seras quickly recollected her composure and stood up a little straighter, held her nose a little higher. Pip raised an eye brow, still unconvinced.

"The destination being…?"

"Nottinghill, of course." Seras crossed her arms and gave him a look that asked why he hadn't figured it out earlier.

Pip frowned. To take a drive through the neighborhood was one thing, but it was an entirely different ordeal to take to it on the streets. He looked the young girl before him, the girl who barely skimmed nineteen, was oblivious to her own beauty, and thought the world to be a friendly place. She and her silk petticoats would be the first to be picked off by pick-pockets, con artists, muggers, and worse.

"Then I shall call the coach." He didn't want to imagine the "worse."

Seras visibly relaxed, and her smile brightened slightly. "Oh, thank you Pip! Thank you truly."

Truth be told, she had been weary to enter the neighborhood by herself. While she wanted to one day be able to walk any street without fear as an inspector, today she was still a simple young lady who still wasn't confident in self-defense. No class would take her when she inquired for them, and while she entertained the idea of dressing as a man for them, she'd never been able to acquire the right wardrobe for it. She wasn't a Police Girl yet regardless of how many manuals she'd read, and couldn't pretend to be as such.

"Of course, _ma cher_ , of course." He couldn't help but return her bright, lovely smile. He'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.

Pip left to call on the coach and returned shortly after. Within twenty minutes, they were on their way to the Nottinghill district. The ride to the district was short in theory, but never ended up that way due to London's haphazard traffic.

The delay did, however, allow Seras to fill Pip in on her brilliant, spurred-by-a-dream plan. It was simple enough to really _get_ to people, and if they got to people perhaps they'd get closer to the truth. Perhaps someone would tell her something that they wouldn't have told the police! People hated speaking to police, after all.

"Your plan was to knock on _strangers' doors_ _alone,_ in a bad neighborhood, to ask if by some off-chance they had seen or heard anything strange the night of Edith's disappearance." Apparently Pip wasn't able to see the simplistic brilliance of her strategy. Seras nodded, her features stubborn and resolute.

"People may be more sympathetic to me than an inspector. They may mention something they shan't have said otherwise." By putting faces and names to cases and by putting people on the spot, they may psychologically be more compelled to help. Seras wouldn't lie, either; she knew she was charming, and she was well prepared the play the grieving sister card as much as necessary.

"Or then they may pull you in the house, lock the door, and then we'd have a search for you, too." Pip replied dryly.

Seras frowned, but didn't argue because the thought had crossed her mind as well. But at the time she'd first hatched her scheme, she had pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind because Edith's safety took prevalence over her own.

"Until your safety is in jeopardy as well." Pip deadpanned when she relayed her logic to him. "You are much too trustful, _Mignonette._ It is your greatest and worst attribute."

"I'd much rather be too trustful than distrustful! How awful it must be to live in constant fear of the world!"

"'tis not constant fear, but constant skepticism. There is a difference!" Pip finally laughed and dug another cigarette out of his grimy jacket pocket. They were getting close, and he was feeling a bit anxious. He didn't want anything, anything at all, to happen to Seras.

Pip glanced at her as they turned in to the neighborhood. She was staring wide-eyed out into the street, pointing out little shops and local grocers as if she had never been in a big city before. Pip leaned back in to the thin, comfortable padding of the Victorias' coach. Perhaps he was over exaggerating. They weren't going to war, and she wasn't one of his clients. They were just going to be walking around on the streets of London, for godssake.

Pip and Seras stopped to rest under the shade of an "Arabian Apple" monger's ramshackle awning before purchasing two Arabian apples, which suspiciously tasted no different than regular apples. They were quiet as they ate, as if trying to both forget and absorb the afternoon simultaneously.

For the most part, their campaign had been a bust. After having six doors being slammed in his face when he knocked, Seras being twice invited into sketchy townhomes by less than savory looking men, and dozens of useless sympathies, they'd just about been ready to call it quits until they came made their way closer to the Count's townhome.

They stopped at the townhome stuffed behind the Count's, the arching tile roof of his opulent home visible from behind the humble makeshift bakery like the looming figure of Big Brother. A stout woman with streaks of gray answered the door, her rosy face softening when she hear Seras' story. As the Count's neighbor, she was very familiar with the case.

"I am quite sorry for your loss, m'dear." The woman said sadly as she dried her hands on her apron. A cloud of flour puffed up with the movement, and she quickly waved it away. "But I'm afraid I haven't any information to offer. I been baking a wedding cake late into the night, I hadn't the time to step outside a'tall." The woman looked genuinely sad that she couldn't be of any more help.

"Oh, well," Seras tried to smile, though clearly disheartened. "I thank you for your time." She was just turning away to rejoin Pip on the sidewalk when the woman spoke up again.

"No- wait! There was something strange that I hadn't thought related to the case, but perhaps it could help." The woman grabbed Seras' shoulder and Seras spun around so fast the woman's hand was knocked off. Pip quickly jumped up the front stairs and joined Seras.

"It wasn't that night, but the night after your sister disappeared did I hear the strangest, most frightening sound. It was in the dead of night, I tell you, and woke me with a terrible fright. It sounded like scream, but it…" The woman frowned and licked her lips. "It-it could not have been, it was simply too dark, too _inhuman_. It sounded as if someone were dying." Seras paled, and the woman started.

"Oh, oh no my dear, it was a man's scream! Most definitely not that of a lady's, I assure you!" Seras was visibly relieved, and Pip breathed a sigh.

"But what an awful sound it was…" The woman sighed. "I looked out my back window, but could see nothing that night. Darker than black, I tell you. I believe the scream came from near that aristocrat's home or one of my other neighbors. I do hope this helps you in some way." They thanked her and ended up at the Arabian Apple stand to rest and recollect themselves before they visited their final destination for the afternoon.

"In this neighborhood, such a cry could have been for anything." Pip commented in between bites, watching people walk by on the sidewalk. Seras nodded slightly.

"Yes… and if it was indeed that of a male, it wasn't Edith."

"That is good news in itself, you know." Pip bit into the core before carelessly tossing it aside. "And any man's scream is enough to rattle the bones. We can consider it, but we cannot base too much on it." He leaned against the brick of the building behind the stand to fish in to his pocket for a cigarette and groaned when he found none.

" _Merde,_ " He sighed. Seras finished her apple and walked to daintily drop it in the gutter.

"So then… perhaps this wasn't the most successful of ventures." She smiled sadly. Pip pushed off the wall and looped his arm with hers as they started off toward the final home. Occasionally one of the people they passed with pause to give them a good stare, and Pip wondered just how odd the couple they seemed what with pretty, lady-like Seras hanging on a straggly, burly eye-patched man's arm.

"I wouldn't sound so disheartened, _ma cher_! At least we know the incident was isolated to the space around the Count's household, and that it was most likely intended to be dealt with discreetly." Pip paused to think for a moment. "And if discretion was intended, the possibility of…" He trailed off.

"The possibility of what, Pip?" Seras asked, frowning.

"Oh, pardon me, I seem to have lost my train of thought!" He grinned cheekily, dimples showing and eye sparkling. Seras rolled her eyes and playfully batted him on the shoulder.

"You had me on edge, you know!" She chastised with a playfulness in her voice. Pip kept up his grin until she looked away, distracted by a passing carriage on the street. It quickly faded, and his features lost all traces of gaiety.

If discretion was intended, the possibility of premeditation was a very likely, but that begged the question of finding the person responsible. From what Pip had been told by Seras, her family, and the detectives on the case, it wasn't as if Edith had been forcefully abducted from the Count's home by some masked marauder.

She had supposedly left the Count's household by her own means, only to be spotted in the side alley with a strange man – her abductor, no doubt - by one of the kitchen staff. But what was Edith doing in the side alley of the Count's home to begin with? Why would she leave his home at all, and during a fashionable party no less? She had either been lured, forced, or frightened out of the household, and the only person who would have the easiest time of doing so was none other than the Count himself.

Pip's eyes narrowed as they turned a corner and a garish residence came in to sight. It was true that he hadn't had the most amiable first impression of the Count, but there was just something about the man that was off. Perhaps some would write it off as jealousy for the man who courted Seras, but to Pip… there was just something that wasn't right. The man was not simply a foreign noble, and that he was certain of.

"Oh, the Count has the most wonderful home I have ever seen! I am certain you'll agree, Pip!" Seras exclaimed as they opened the wrought iron front gate and made their way toward the front staircase. Pip nodded, but didn't say anything as they climbed the staircase and made it to the front door.

It was made of dark oak, much too tall for any normal person, and had a large brass knocker with a wolf's head on it. Much too symbolic for Pip's taste, but he reached up at gave the door a good few swift knocks with it. Seras was standing farther away from the door, admiring the view one had from such a tall staircase, and wasn't totally within vision when the door was answered almost instantly after the last knock. Pip pulled his hand back in surprise, staring at the butler who answered the door.

"We have come to speak with the Count-" Pip began, only to be interrupted by the butler.

"My master is currently resting and will see no visitors." The butler was a smaller man with a sharply lined face and glasses. His attire was seamless, from his combed black hair to his matching black suit. His entire aura was well-maintained to the point of compulsion, perfection to the point of obsession.

The butler observed Pip in obvious distaste. Pip couldn't help but glare back and was just about to say something that probably wouldn't improve his impression, when Seras joined Pip's side.

The butler's expression didn't change, but there was a spark of recognition in his sharp, black eyes.

"Good afternoon, Miss Victoria." The butler spoke before she had a chance to introduce herself, surprising Seras. While she faintly remembered him from the Count's dinner party, she had certainly never made his acquaintance before. She supposed the Count had pointed her out to him. The butler bent into a formal bow of greeting before pulling himself back up into his ramrod straight posture.

"If you both would be so kind as to follow me, I shall escort you to the library." The butler quickly took a step back and gestured for them to enter the foyer, apparently feeling more hospitable now than he had before. Seras and Pip did as he said and followed him through the grand foyer, where Seras pointed out a few of her favorite paintings along the way.

Pip didn't like them. Albeit beautiful, Pip didn't like the Count's home at all. From the moment he stepped inside, he had the unnerving feeling of being watching. Every once in a while he'd give in and look over his shoulder, and of course no one would be there except a statue or a painting of some old man in expensive clothes.

They went into a long wood-pannelled hallway with – surprise – more portraits that made Pip feel uncomfortable. Seras seemed totally immune to their following eyes, and gazed upon them with somber admiration. Pip tried to ignore the feeling, but it only grew when they finally entered the library.

And what a library it was.

"Does the Count hunt exotic game?" Seras asked, trying not to make her discomfort with the Cheetah-turned rug showcased in the middle of the room obvious.

"On occasion, I suppose." The butler intoned quietly before turning to stand in the entrance. "The Count shall join you shortly." He didn't waste time and closed the door swiftly behind him. The hairs on the back of Pip's neck stood erect; he felt trapped.

"Oh look, Pip! This one must be a portrait of the Count. He has one of his grandfather in the drawing room. They do resemble one another, so very much..." Seras was standing by the fireplace, smiling up at the frowning portrait of a tall, dark, and handsome man standing next to a black stallion in an overgrown field. The typical portrait of a rich nobleman, Pip assumed.

He looked around the room. "Well, he certainly likes to read, does he not?" Pip asked out loud, making his way toward the wall lined with books shelves only to trip over…. A pair of ladies' boots? Pip frowned and glanced at Seras, who had moved on to the small portraits on the mantelpiece, and then back at the boots.

His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly stole a glance at Seras. She was still admiring the mantel, bless her, and he turned away from the boots as he possibly could so not as to gain her attention. There were a number of reasons why there would be ladies' boots in the Count's library, but they weren't many Pip could be convinced by at the moment.

However, they were in no shape for a confrontation. He wasn't armed at all, didn't assign any Geese to the area, and didn't know the neighborhood well enough to hide from harm's way if need be. It would be unfair to try the Count guilty before proven innocent, after all, and surely the Force had searched his home before. There had to be a reason, but Pip felt his pulse and mind race anyway. There-

"What a surprise this is." Pip and Seras both jumped around in surprise, the former more frightened than the later. The Count stood before them in all his glory, odd eyeglasses and all. A medium sized black hound stood slightly behind his master, observing them with an intelligible gaze.

Pip felt his throat go dry. The Count had an almost suffocating prescience that could've sucked the life out of everything around him, forcing all attention to be directed toward him alone.

"My Lord." Seras greeted him with a sad smile, wringing her hands together as he crossed the room to get to her, all but ignoring Pip.

"Why so sad, Police Girl?" The Count stopped just short of Seras to elegantly fall into what was probably a priceless leather high-backed chair. His dog had other plans and went straight to Seras, excitedly sniffing at her skirts and circling around her like a wolf. Seras giggled slightly and reached down to scratch the dog behind the ears, and the dog barked slightly in response.

"Down, Baskerville." The Count snapped. The hound obediently complied and turned back to his master, choosing to complacently lie at his feet. Seras smiled at dog.

"Oh, I adore animals, he did no harm. I hadn't the slightest idea you had a dog." She bent over at the waist and extended her hand out to the dog and made those ridiculous little clicking noises people thought attracted animals, only for him to give her a curious look and nothing more.

"He's quite obedient." Pip commented from the corner in the room, prompting the attention of both Seras and the Count.

"He understands who his Master is." The Count commented, reaching down to scratch Baskerville behind the ears. Seras bit her lip and glanced at Pip, whose lips were drawn in to a tight line. There was silence in the room once again. It seemed the Count wasn't in the best of moods today, for he was quieter than usual.

"And on what business have you and that Frenchman come here today, Police Girl?" The Count asked after a long moment, lifting his hand from Baskerville's head. She noticed his wrinkled clothing, his slightly messy hair. Had they waken him? "What do you need from me that the Frenchman can't already give you?"

"Well, today we went about Nottinghill to investigate Edith's… disappearance on our own." She said quietly, still looking about the room. The Count seemed to perk up at that.

"Really now? Why, it seems my Police Girl is blossoming in to a real police girl." Finally, he grinned. It was the closest thing to smile they were going to get. "And what evidence did you come across?" He seemed to be in better spirits now.

Seras forced herself not to beam at his praise. It shouldn't have meant as much to her as it did. "That is why we disturb you today, My Lord. After speaking to the baker who lives in the townhome behind you, we wanted to know if you had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary the night after Edith's disappearance."

"Out of the ordinary, you say? No, I don't recall anything strange."

"The lady reported hearing the blood-curdling scream of a man in the dead of night." Pip was straight and to the point. The Count laughed, and Seras frowned slightly. Pip could only stare.

"Merging you first police report and interrogation in to one, are you?" His grin was unkind. "But no, I'm afraid I can report hearing no such thing. I never woke to any screaming – but then, I had gotten to bed by late anyway, and am one to sleep like the dead." He was playing with them now. Pip sucked in a breath and looked from the Count to Seras, who only seemed disappointed that the Count hadn't heard anything.

"Oh." Was her official response.

"Well…" She frowned again, clearly disheartened and off-put. She had truly been expecting the Count to realize that he had heard the scream, that there was something to it, and they'd put two and two together and somehow get closer to Edith.

"Why so sad, Police Girl? I have not seen you since that night, and yet you look as excited to see me as a wife is to see her husband's mistress." He drummed his gloved fingertips on the arm of his chair. Seras' eyes narrowed. What? How could he ask her such a thing?

"No, of course it isn't that! How can you say such a thing? My dear sister, my best friend, is gone!" Seras asked, looking genuinely upset by the Count's words for once. The Count looked up, his expression impassive yet caught slightly off guard.

"This is where my sister disappeared! This is where I found out! This s where I sobbed my heart out, and heard that there was no trace! No hope!" It was quite apparent that the stress and general bad luck of the day had finally gnawed through her. The raw emotions that had to be constantly buried with every retelling of Edith's story lie awake in their graves, striking madly at the coffin door.

"Of course I would be sad here! Of course I would continue to replay such a thing over and over again while I walk the very rooms my sister walked in her last hours! Of course I'm _sad_! Not everything in my life centers around you!" Seras practically shrieked, her voice shrill and threatening to be mutilated by tears. But God, she was so sick of crying! And she refused to cry in front of this man again!

The Count was quiet. He seemed contemplative. Baskerville eyed her with a certain degree of curiousity, and Pip stared at her in horror. This man was not one to be spoken to in such a way! What was Seras thinking?

"My Lord… I…." Pip began, walking swiftly from the bookshelves to Seras. "I fear it to be best that we-"

"It seems this has affected you more deeply than I previously observed." The Count spoke over Pip as if he wasn't there once again. Seras scoffed and looked away to grab Pip's arm, at which Pip felt great satisfaction when he saw the Count's lip twitch to a frown.

"I do apologize for my outburst, My Lord. It shan't happen ever again." Seras apologized, not being able to bring herself to beg outright for forgiveness. Here she had stood in her grief to speak with him about her sister, and he hadn't been able to think of anyone other than himself.

Seras started toward the door with Pip in tow, trying to make it before she started that damn crying again when the Count stood suddenly from his chair. Baskerville growled lowly at the disruption, but otherwise went back to his nap.

"Miss Victoria," He addressed her, and she stopped because he hadn't called her that since a time she couldn't remember. She looked over her shoulder, expecting him to be still somewhat near his chair, only to find him only a few steps away from her and Pip. Seras jumped back in surprise. Just how had he crossed the room so fast! Pip looked as equally as perplexed, if not terrified.

"I believe it would do you well to rest."

Seras looked away. "I have rested too long already. Now is not the time for inaction, My Lord." She had already wasted away too long in her bed. Edith needed her.

"That is true, Miss Victoria." The Count agreed somberly. "But such is not the rest I mean. Even now as you work for your sister, you are at the end of your rope. Your temperament, your sanity, cannot bear to stay in this city with this sadness, these people, and these memories for much longer." He paused, probably for dramatic effect. "You simply must get away."

Seras paused. The Count saw his opening, and Pip could only pull Seras a little bit closer to him as the Count spoke.

"I invite you to join me at my country estate to escape this sadness, if only for a little while, to take hold of your bearings once more." When Seras didn't respond at once, he added: "For Edith's sake."

Pip glared. That was a low blow.

"I… I know not. I most humbly appreciate your offer, My Lord, but…" Seras trailed off, trying to word her rejection in the softest and kindest way possible. She simply didn't want to deal with courtship at the moment, not when Edith was still unaccounted for.

"I simply wish to only better your well-being, Miss Victoria." The Count said softly, taking a step forward to lay a hand on her free arm. Seras watched his hand before looking to his face, which had morphed in to that of the most charming Apollo Michelangelo had ever drawn.

"It would not be in Seras' best interest to be to a man's manor alone, My Lord." It was forward, Pip knew, but he couldn't just stand there any longer and watch as the Count attempted to persuade Seras to meet up with him at some unknown address in the country. The Count turned to him, his lips now firmly settled in a deep frown. But, perhaps Pip shouldn't have said that…

"If I should accept your offer, My Lord…" Seras began, "It would be on account of my dear brother Pip being at my side for it." She was resolute, and it seemed that it would be the only way she'd have it.

Pip opened his mouth to protest, to say that while he cared for her, he _did_ have a job to get back to, but the Count beat him to it.

"I'll allow it. I shall visit your parents this evening." The nobleman suddenly looked smugly satisfied, and Pip came down with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They said their goodbyes and paid their respects, and left soon after.

Seras was still a little irked by his comment.

"He was just so selfish… to think that I have to be happy at all times for him, as if his happiness is supposed to be my happiness!" She exclaimed as they walked along the street, looking for their coach. Pip didn't say anything for a long while, and only listened to Seras' rant.

"Seras…" He did eventually find something to say.

"Yes, Pip?"

"Do not trust him."

* * *

 **{A/N}**

 **Notes:**

\- After a loved one had died, Victorian ladies would typically wear understated black dresses and bonnets for several months. They might have also worn pendants would a picture of the deceased around their necks, or a locket containing a lock of the deceased hair or clothing. This ritual was called "mourning," and was taken very seriously.

Hi everyone! Thanks for all the reviews, and the comments about the rule of invitation!

I recently underwent surgery and am still recovering, but am now feeling better and am able to write once again!

Please let me know your thoughts!

Until next time,

Della


	8. VIII

Disclaimer: i totes own hellsign I have since lyk 5ever.

Lol just kidding.

I really don't own _Hellsing_. I just wanted to use the word 5ever today.

* * *

 **VIII.**

There was a brisk knock at her door that served as forewarning, but otherwise Seras was unprepared.

Seras stood in the middle of her bedroom, practically swimming in the twenty pounds of petticoats and corsets her mother had shoved in her arms. Mrs. Victoria and Elizabeth scampered back and forth as they tried to separate bonnets and gloves into this pile and that. Two large trunks lie open at the foot of the bed, surrounded by piles of patiently waiting folded clothing. The women had barely heard the knock, let alone processed just who Nora hastily tried to introduce before their guest went in on her own.

"Might I announce Sir Hellsing!" Nora hurriedly called over the murmers of what bonnet went with which pair of gloves, and whether or not a formal evening gown would be necessary. For a moment, Sir Hellsing found herself unacknowledged by the women of the room who were too caught up in their own business to realize.

It was Seras who first fully recognized the aristocrat's presence right as she set her pile of undergarments on a whitewashed dresser, though she at first looked through instead of at the woman. Sir Integra curtly nodded to Seras, apparently able to overlook such a terrible disregard of courtesy and indecent exposure of under-things. The aristocrat took a few more steps into the mundane bedroom, her icy eyes roaming over every pastel detail.

"Sir-Sir Hellsing!" Seras sputtered, jumping in front of the dresser with her cheeks burning. Sir Hellsing nodded, appraising the eldest Victoria sister.

Good God, Sir Hellsing was in her _bedroom_! Why was she in her bedroom? Good grief, her corsets were on her dresser and in plain sight! Nora should have seated her in the sitting room or the drawing room like she had for all their other guests! Seras threw a questioning look at the maid, who could only offer a nervous shrug and pitiable smile. Sir Hellsing was apparently not one to leave in wait.

Mrs. Victoria and the other in-house maid, Elizabeth, paused in their argument over whether wearing silk slippers made Seras look presumptuous to finally take notice of the noble in their presence. Mrs. Victoria's eyes widened, though she found she could no longer summon the panic and horror she once could in the face of a possible social blunder.

"Oh, Sir Hellsing, I do apologize." Mrs. Victoria offered a wan smile and quickly pushed the green silk slippers in to Elizabeth's hands. "Our household has been quite out of sort in light of previous…" she paused, "events, and I am afraid you have caught us at a particularly chaotic moment. Do forgive us for any lack of formalities." Mrs. Victoria bent in to a little curtsy. Seras and Elizabeth followed her lead, only standing up again when Sir Hellsing waved her hand impatiently.

"I have never followed our society's civilities to a tee, madam." Sir Hellsing's eyes gleamed in mirth as she reached in to the pocket of her suit jacket to pull out a Cuban cigar. Seras bit back her frown; she hoped Sir Hellsing didn't plan on smoking in her bedroom.

"I see." Mrs. Victoria nodded, brushing her hands on her skirts before politely bringing her attention back to Sir Hellsing.

Sir Hellsing laughed dryly at Mrs. Victoria's comment, although it was obvious that Mrs. Victoria hadn't meant a thing by it.

"Indeed. I have intruded upon you this afternoon to have a conversation with your daughter regarding her sister." Sir Hellsing paused, seeing the sudden change in everyone's expressions, and added: "In confidence."

They all were all so disappointed. Sir Hellsing looked as if she were trying not to laugh as Mrs. Victoria, Elizabeth, and Nora slowly shuffled out of the bedroom with dejected faces akin to punished children. In their defense it _was_ cruel of her to leave them out of what they thought to be new information regarding the lost Victoria sister, but it would have been even crueler of her to take away their blissful ignorance – a luxury Seras could no longer afford. Things had snowballed far faster than she would have liked.

Sir Hellsing sighed slightly and looked around, hoping to find a lighter among the frills and ribbons that she too had been subjected to several decades ago. Ah yes, they had always wanted her to be a proper lady, hadn't they? She glanced at the piles of pinks and blues. Unlike this infamous Seras Victoria, instead of embracing such a role, Integra had grown to dislike and defy it. She stuffed the cigar back in to her pocket. Sir Hellsing doubted there was going to even be a damn match in here.

"Well…?" Seras began, bouncing on her heels among piles of stockings. She knew that she was being horribly informal, but she had no idea what this could be about and was nervous and excited to hear it all the same. Perhaps she'd found a lead on Edith!

Sir Hellsing elegantly pulled the small, white-painted farm chair out from under Seras' writing desk and sat down. She, in her dark navy pant suit and polished black shoes, looked quite out of place in Seras' white, girlish bedroom. Seras closed one of the trunks at the foot of her bed and took a seat on it, now opposite Sir Hellsing.

"Have you any, _any_ word at all, regarding my sister?" Seras couldn't help the desperate edge that crept in to her voice.

Sir Hellsing frowned and gave Seras a good, long look before glancing at the door. Seras followed her gaze, confused, and furrowed her brow when Sir Hellsing stood and went to the door to open it and look about outside. Seras stared when the aristocrat pulled a silver crucifix from her pocket, quite a bit larger and more ornate than any of Edith's, and hung it on the doorknob. It was only when she returned to her seat, satisfied that there were no eavesdroppers, did she speak.

"My organization works under the Queen, and is charged with cases rather… similar to that of your sister's. We have rather different and more radical hypotheses than the Force for certain situations." Sir Hellsing explained, watching Seras' reaction carefully. The girl was definitely alarmed, on edge. Good.

Seras' eyes widened. "Radical?" She whispered, feeling her heart sink. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"Probably not at all what you believe it to be at the moment." Sir Hellsing replied smoothly.

"Please… please just tell me." Seras folded her hands and bent in to herself, preparing for the worst. Sir Hellsing observed her for a moment before speaking.

"Very well." She sighed, almost sounding reluctant. "My organization has reason to believe that due to your affiliation with Count Vlad Dracul V, you sister was attacked by a vampire." Seras' eyes widened, and she searched Sir Hellsing's face for any sort of sign that she was joking. She found none.

"Vampire?" Seras asked, flabbergasted at the absurdity of such a thought. "You believe Edith was taken by a _vampire_ , of all things?" She stopped and thought for a moment. "Is that what was so secret about your meetings with Edith? But what did Edith, let alone the Count, have to do with your so-called vampires?"

Good God, this woman was crazy. All that money and solitude had gotten to her. Everyone knew that vampires didn't exist… but Sir Hellsing looked so perturbed at the moment that Seras didn't have the guts to outright question her. That woman was a brute, even if she wasn't right in the head.

"As I stated previously," Sir Hellsing's voice was cool and could no longer bothered to be cordial, "due to your affiliation with the Count, we believe Edith to have become a target in an attack, or less likely, to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And what does the Count have to do with it?" Seras was getting slightly impatient. Sir Hellsing seemed to only be repeating the same insane nonsense over and over.

Sir Hellsing's glasses flashed in the sunlight. "We believe the Count to have instigated, allowed, or… performed the attack, Miss." There. It had been said. Sir Hellsing neatly folded her gloved hands over one knee, waiting for the young lady's undeniably negative reaction.

Seras gaffed, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. Did this intelligent, high-ranking, unabashed Valkyrie of a woman really just accuse someone of _being a vampire_ and then involve him with Edith's disappearance? Seras felt like laughing at the absurdity! But Sir Hellsing really was perfectly serious about it, wasn't she? Sir Hellsing really believed what she had to say. It sent a sudden shiver up Seras' spine, but she refused to acknowledge it any more than that.

"You believe the Count _is a vampire_?" Seras asked dubiously, hoping that somehow she had just misinterpreted their entire conversation. Not very likely, but still a minute possibility.

"Yes." Sir Hellsing didn't even bat an eye.

Seras couldn't help it – she laughed, albeit dryly. What the hell? What was wrong with this woman? And what right did she have to say such awful things about the man who had been such a help to her family? Who'd held her and comforted her in her lowest moments? The ill-feelings of her last meeting with the Count were all but forgotten.

"How can you say such a thing, Sir Hellsing?" Seras questioned, clenching her fists as she remembered the night of Edith's disappearance. "The Count was speaking to me when we heard Edith's… cry. He could never have attacked Edith, nor would he have regardless!"

Seras felt her blood boiling as she went in to more detail. "The Count helped my father gather inspectors the night of her disappearance and helped with the search until four o'clock the morning next! How dare you try to slander such a man! He is valiant, he is noble, respectable! He may be eccentric, yes, but he is true!"

She paused to take a breath. " _And vampires do not exist!_ " Seras stood from the trunk, feeling more and more righteous and justified as she spoke. How dare this woman try to besmirch the Count's good name!

"You fool!" Sir Hellsing snapped, leaping to her feet as well. "You play right in to his trap, just as your sister and I feared!"

Seras felt a flood of realization flow over her. "So it was as I thought… it was you who put such nonsense in to Edith's head!" She cried, pointing an accusing finger at Sir Hellsing. "How am I to know you and your organization were not involved in my sister's disappearance, Sir Hellsing?" Seras' voice dropped to a low whisper as she took a step closer to the aristocrat.

Sir Hellsing grit her teeth. "You know not the bridges you burn; your ignorance blinds you."

"I am perfectly aware of my actions, Sir Hellsing, and will hear no more lies about a good man!" Seras hissed, feeling quite indignant. "Now if you shall excuse me, I must continue to prepare for a journey." She said quietly, meeting the aristocrat's gaze evenly.

Sir Hellsing only shook her head. There was no getting through to the girl at this point, but she would have to try again. She wouldn't allow both sisters to disappear. She couldn't lose to that monster twice.

"May God have mercy on your soul, for your vampire shall not." The two woman stared at each for a long moment, neither daring to look away. Seras bit her lip, feeling terribly small and weak compared to this evil noblewoman. But then Sir Hellsing suddenly turned on her heel, opened the door and left, closing the door behind her without another word.

Alone in her bedroom, Seras felt vulnerable and wrapped her arms around her body, trying to fight off the sudden chill that floated through the air.

* * *

The Victorias had, for whatever reason, agreed quite easily with the Count's proposed plan with only a few tweaks here and there. Both parents were too tired, too drained, and too stuck in their own self-misery to worry too much when there would be Pip to look after her.

It was decided rather quickly that Seras, accompanied both by Pip and the Victorias' trusted housemaid Nora, would join the Count at his country estate in the West Country*, of all places. Pip hadn't been very pleased – the estate was a good four to five hours southwest of London! – to say the least, but Seras begged him to put up with it. In the end she won him over, as she always did.

After helping Seras pick her outfits and pack her things, Mrs. Victoria had returned to her previous business matters. She no longer made such a show of the Count's courtship, much to Seras' relief and worry. Perhaps her mother thought her to have it in the bag, but Seras personally thought it had to do with Edith. Mr. Victoria had only needed the knowledge that Pip would be by her side to be sated. After seeing that his wife had his daughter's affairs were settled, Mr. Victoria returned back to his previous work as well.

The Count and her father were apparently in touch through letter and messenger, as the Count had apparently already retreated to his estate, Cramer Hall*, soon after he'd met with her father the Sunday last. He had not written to Seras, and Seras did not write to him. She was still a little sore with him and his snarky remarks from their last meeting, and was sure that once she arrived at Cramer Hall she would be able to spend more than enough time with him.

"How does a Romanian noble only in town for half the season manage to put up an estate in the West Country?" Pip muttered to himself as he helped the coachman pile Seras' trunks on the coach. Seras sat inside the coach with the door open, peering out to watch Pip and the coachman hop on and off.

"You've solved your own mystery! He is royalty, you know, not nobility. I'm certain he merely bought the place with spare change not some time ago." Seras explained, setting her new copy of _Jane Eyre_ under the picnic basket Nora had packed and placed on the seat.

Pip jumped down from the coach with a huff, flinging his braid over his shoulder. "Spare change, eh?" He shook his head with a dry laugh. "Where is the town nearest this Cramer Hall, _Mignonette_?" The whole thing just didn't sit right with him, and he'd be damned if he left Seras alone in the moors with Count Potential-Mass-Murderer with nothing but a sweet old lady as her only means of protection.

Seras clucked her tongue, thinking back to the geography lessons that her mother had made certain were shoved down her throat before she was introduced to the _ton_. "I believe it to be south of Yeovil, but north of Weymouth and Poole." She said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

Pip sighed and climbed into the coach, taking a seat on the bench opposite to her. He was just itching to pull out a cigarette but knew that thanks to Nora's apparent allergies, they were safely tucked away in his own trunk. He stifled another sigh and glanced out the window, half-heartedly listening to the conversation Seras struck up with Nora when the older lady finally joined them in the coach.

After final goodbyes were exchanged with the Victorias, and Seras and Pip had been hugged and kissed far too much for even their liking, the coach the Count sent for them lurched forward in to the streets of London. The Count had unsurprisingly opted to send for them in a shiny new, top of the line coach that Pip had only read about in the Times but had never actually seen. The seats were padded with an extra layer of thick cushioning, the interior was lined with tasteful colors and carpets. Even though he hated the guy, Pip had to admit that it was nice to be riding in the lap of luxury.

The majority of the ride saw Seras reading, Nora knitting, and Pip dozing in and out of consciousness. After they had gotten out of London around noon and into the countryside, the ride became more amiable and beautiful than anyone had expected it would. After several hours in to their journey, green grasslands dotted with sheep and stone villages were exchanged for the rolling hills of the moors and the occasional heather field and peat pile.

Towns, villages, and really any source of human life came between increasingly longer intervals, and it became apparent just how far out into the moors they would be going. It was far. Seras didn't mind; she thought the moors to have a sort of thoughtful, melancholy beauty. On the other hand, the fact that they were so separated from other people (and the authorities) scared the living shit out of Pip.

He unconsciously stroked the side of his jacket where a revolver lay hidden in an inner pocket. Whatever the Count might be planning, Pip had come prepared. He smiled grimly to himself. Oh yes, he had most definitely come prepared. He mightn't have been a cautious man by nature, but in his line of work failure to prepare meant failure to live to see the next day. He had more where that came from, stashed away in a secret compartment in his trunk.

After several hours of watching isolated stretches of moorland roll by, their carriage made a wide right turn on to a long, winding pressed dirt road up a hill. They passed through a short copse of tall, spindly trees at the base of the hill before remerging at the top and in front of a three-story, sprawling gray stone mansion. It was designed in the Tudor Gothic style complete with crenelated parapets, large mullions, and an octagonal tower sandwiched between the two sections of the estate.

"My goodness…" Nora murmured from her place beside Seras, who could only manage to nod in agreement. Aside from Buckingham Palace, the Count's Cramer Hall was by far the most beautiful building she had ever laid eyes on.

Pip felt his mouth go dry as they entered the looping drive and stopped just in front of the main entrance, the late afternoon sun casting a warm, friendly glow on an otherwise foreboding place. It was so large, and it he wasn't careful he and Seras could easily be separated. He cast a covert glance at Seras, who was busy trying to straighten out wrinkles in her skirts, and then back at the mansion.

He would have to be careful.

The four-centered-arch door swung open to reveal a single, well-kept butler – the same butler the Count had kept in Lodon, Seras and Pip noted – who gracefully made his way to their coach. After exchanging a few quick words with the coachman, the butler opened the door and stepped aside for Pip to leap down, and then assisted Seras and Nora in stepping down.

"I do hope your journey was comfortable and uneventful." The butler, as emotionless as ever, greeted them once the ladies were safely on the ground. With a quick flick of the wrist he waved the coachman off, who started the horses off toward the back of the estate. "Your luggage shall be brought to your chambers." The butler explained as he turned to lead them through the front door.

Pip and Seras followed the butler arm-in-arm while Nora trailed politely behind them, wicker basket still in hand. The butler lead them right in to the formal foyer, and Seras thought it strange that there were no other visible servants in the foyer to receive them. That, and the Count was nowhere to be seen.

Regardless, the foyer was nothing if not more grand than the exterior of the mansion. Cream French paneling lined by large, elegant mullions and gabled windows would've given the room a sort of simplistic beauty had it not been for the overzealous array of gilded Versailles furniture, oriental art work, Persian rugs, vases with suffocating flower arrangements, and priceless pieces placed here and there. Two beautiful chestnut grand staircases that surrounded a shimmering, brightly lit crystal chandelier only added to the over-done atmosphere. Seras had to restrain herself from spinning around to take it all in, and lightly swatted Pip's arm when she saw him blatantly staring.*

She couldn't help but feel disappointed. She had taken such time at her vanity that morning to tie her hair into the perfect chignon, make sure her white gloves remained unblemished, and match her powder blue dress with a humble, unobtrusive pearlescent necklace. She had labored over her appearance for quite some time in the anticipation of being received by the Count, and felt slighted when he was nowhere in sight.

"My Lord regrets that previous obligations regarding his occupation prevent him from properly receiving his guests, and offers his most sincere of apologies." The butler's voice was slow and melodic, and if Seras had been still reading her mother's trashy penny-novels she'd described it as hypnotic.

"My Lord highly anticipates dining with his guests at seven o'clock this evening in the Red Room." The butler intoned, turning on his heel and making his way between the grand twin chestnut staircases that gracefully lead to the second floor. The group took the unspoken and rather rude cue and followed after him.

The butler, whose name Seras later learned to be Renfield, gave the group an impromptu tour of the mansion and the grounds. He covered such things as the drawing room, the sitting room, the billiards room, the foyer, the formal dining room, the informal dining room - also known as the Red Room "for its red wallpaper," Renfield explained – the library, the balcony, the garden, the stables, and then finally their separate bed chambers. Seras and Nora were located side-by-side on one end of the second floor, and Pip's situation was ( _of course_ ) on the first floor.

The third floor, they were told, was made up of the Count's private chambers and study. He was not to be disturbed by any one of them at any time.

Renfield wished them goodbye and left them to rest and prepare for the evening meal, and informed them that before-dinner drinks would be served in the drawing room at a quarter before eight o'clock in the evening. Then he left, Pip followed him to the first floor, Nora went to unpack, and Seras was left with the acute feeling of just how empty the mansion really was.

The Count did, however, join Seras and Pip for dinner once the sun had just set over the horizon. Nora was to dine in her room or with the other servants.

"Whichever suites her fancy," The Count intoned with a sly smile when Seras asked.

They were seated in the Red Room, whose brilliant red wallpaper lived up to its namesake. The walls were decorated with bright oil paintings of children having picnics in heather fields, gilded mirrors, and lined with expensive dark oak china cabinets. Pip squirmed a bit in his large, uncomfortable dark oak dinner chair. It had been a while since he'd partaken in such blatant luxury, and was vaguely worried about inadvertently breaking some priceless artifact.

They were served potato bisque (Seras had never experienced a cold soup before), followed by poached quail eggs with some sort of rice pilaf, sides of roast sweet potato and asparagus, citrus ice, fresh dinner rolls with sweet cream butter, preserved fruit, and finally hot coffee in the drawing room. Seras couldn't remember having ever eaten so well or so much at a dinner party, but unlike most other men the Count had absolutely insisted she finish everything on her plate. She needed to regain her strength, or something along those lines.

Seras would've liked to tell the Count the same thing, though. He barely touched his meal and instead paid more attention to his wine than anything else – much to Pip's apparent disapproval. But, no matter. He was master of the manor and could do what he saw fit.

She sat back into one of the luxurious, comfortable chairs looking into the fire, nursing a hot mug of coffee and a bout of encroaching lethargy. The leather was soft to the touch and enveloped her. Twilight had taken over the moors, casting a low glow through the ceiling-high windows of the sitting room. The Count sat to her left and Pip to her right, the former seeming much more relaxed than the later.

She sighed happily, dreamily. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so warm and care free.

A gloved hand rested gently on her arm. She turned to address the Count, who was observing her from behind his strange eyeglasses with another clever smile. "Have you ever heard the story of Cramer Hall, Police Girl?" His thumb massaged circles in to her forearm, and she unconsciously relaxed further.

"N-no, My Lord." The Count's smile grew slightly.

"Well my dear, they say this very Hall is haunted." Pip raised an eye brow, looking over Seras' shoulder.

"What? You don't say!" Seras gasped. She had never been good with ghost stories. Edith used to tell her ones that would keep her up all hours of the night, keeping watch for the monster that were _going_ to crawl out from under their bed. At the time, she had never understood how Edith had been able to just fall asleep in the face of danger like that. She tried not to wilt at the inadvertent thought of her sister.

"Oh yes, Police Girl." The Count's grin grew wicked. "They say that the Hall's original owner, Lord Cramer, was a cold-hearted man with a horrific temper and a young, pretty wife. The wife was alleged to have kept a great black hound as a pet. The hound was very faithful to his mistress and never once failed to answer her call." He paused when the door was pushed in and Baskerville padded in unannounced, his smile obtaining a sinister edge.

"Oh, hello pup!" Seras laughed at the timing and watched the dog come to lay at the edge of the roaring fireplace, tail wagging and tongue lolling. He certainly was a big fellow.

Pip felt remarkably uneasy in its presence.

"As I was saying," The Count cleared his throat and Seras blushed, "the hound was forever faithful to the wife. But one night, Lord Cramer got it in his mind that his innocent wife had been unfaithful and was struck with blind rage." The Count leaned back into his seat, his hands folded over his chest and he gazed into the flames. Seras sat ramrod straight, leaning in as if to hear better.

"He chased her on to the moors that night with a knife, and savagely murdered her in cold blood."

Seras gasped. "Good heavens!" The Count looked at her and then back to the flames, nodding in agreement.

"Indeed." He paused for a moment only to smile a terribly, dreadful smile. "As his wife lay dead before him, Lord Cramer heard a terrible, vicious growling from behind him and turned to behold his wife's hound – but it was larger, deadlier, more fearsome. The Hound attacked, and in turn killed Lord Kramer with ease. Some say the hound still lurks these moors, and that if you listen closely you can hear him howling in the dead of night." The Count sat up a little straighter, Seras giving him her rapt attention.

"Do you not speak of the legend of the Black Shuck, My Lord?" Pip asked skeptically. He'd heard this one before. "Is it not supposed to haunt the moors of East Anglia?" Never had he heard of it being spotted in the West Country. Though such a thing was "possible," he supposed – it was currently a very popular urban legend.

The Count's smile didn't waver at all, not in the slightest. "So they say, Mr. Berndaotte, but can one ever be too sure of such things?" It was so blatantly rhetorical Pip didn't try to justify a response. Seras had barely seemed to register his original question, anyway.

The clock rang nine.

The Count stood before offering his hand to Seras.

"Time seems to have escaped us, my dear. Please go to your chambers to rest. I shall be with you tomorrow. I beg you a good-night and a pleasant rest." He was too much the charmer, Pip thought with a frown. Really, Pip thought as he watched them, was brushing his hand through Seras' hair all that necessary or _proper_? He stiffened upon realizing that no, no it wasn't.

"I'll escort you to your chambers, _ma cher_." Pip made it a point to say it in front of the Count, grabbing Seras' other arm and pulling her away hard enough to cause her to stumble. The Count frowned slightly, but stood and finished begging his good nights none the less.

"I wish you the same, My Lord." Seras dipped into the proper curtsy with a happy little smile, averting her eyes. She didn't see the look on his face, but Pip did. "I assume to breakfast with you tomorrow?" It was a presumptuous question she knew, but she doubted the Count would mind. She had a suspicion that he was rather fond of her forwardness.

The Count offered a thin-lipped smile. "I am afraid not, Police Girl." Pip tried not to look so suddenly cheerful, and Seras tried to keep her smile from falling too abruptly. It _had_ been a presumptuous question, after all.

"I must make you aware that I am unfortunately held by stately affairs for the majority of the daylight hours." The Count confessed with regret. "You may have my entire manor at your disposal, of course, and I beg you make the most of it. I will only be able to make your acquaintance during the evening hours once my affairs have been tended to."

Pip blinked, surprised. Perhaps it _was_ possible that the Count had really invited them solely for Seras' sake. Perhaps Pip's own feelings had been misguided, and that he had allowed his jealousy to get the better of him. Pip glanced about the large room where the shadows played, lonely except for over-expensive haberdashery, and felt a pang of pity for the Count. He knew nothing about the man's personal life, but Pip would've gone stir crazy from being so secluded so far away from home in such a large and empty place.

"But, may I request that you leave the third floor undisturbed." It wasn't a request. The Count was suddenly quite a bite more serious. Seras nodded and Pip didn't really have a problem with it, but wasn't an entire floor rather overboard? Doubt crept in to his mind quickly, former thoughts and ideas trickling in.

Edith's disappearance, the boots….

"Of course, My Lord." Seras agreed. The Count smiled and offered his hand again, but when Seras took it he grabbed on to it with a vengeance and pulled her to him. His smile wasn't kind, and his eyes were focused on Pip.

"M-my Lord…" Seras stuttered when she bumped into his chest and tried to jump back only to be grabbed and yanked back into place. What had gotten in to him? She struggled in his grasp, only to stop abruptly when he gently cupped her chin and tilted her face toward his own. She averted her gaze, suddenly shy.

"My Lord, this isn't proper!" Pip protested, stepping forward. Okay, so maybe his previous judgments hadn't been so misguided. But he didn't rush forward at pry Seras away because whether he liked it or not, they were going to be stuck in this man's home for an entire ten days' time. It wouldn't be a good idea to piss him off the first night.

But the Count ignored him, and placed a breathless kiss on Seras' cheek. "Good night, my Police Girl." He murmured, his lips tickling her delicate skin. Seras' heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe, but she still found the shame to break away and step back afterward. The Count did the same.

Pip grabbed Seras' and pulled her out of the room after fixing the Count with a fierce glare. It seemed he had been right, after all. The Count's intentions were not pure.

* * *

Oliver Crandall had been delivering milk for a good year now. It was his first real job outside the factory, and with the missus' new baby on the way he was sure thankful he had it. Oliver didn't particularly adore his occupation, but there was a certain satisfaction in providing for his family that he loved about it.

Besides, he was one of the lucky ones that had Kensington on his route. Life was so much easier when he didn't have to constantly look over his shoulder for muggers or pick-pockets, evade vandals or keep his eye on his cart. Even though a majority of the people in Kensington were what – on a bad day – he'd call entitled tossers*, they were prompt, thanked him for his delivery, and rarely tried to cheat him. Such small things made his job all the easier, and he was thankful for them.

So when he saw the milk curdled in the jugs he'd left under the stoop of the Victoria family's side door from his last delivery, he grew suspicious. He knew the Victorias to be well-off, but not terribly wealthy and not to have a country estate. They hadn't just left London and forgotten to cancel their order, and he greatly doubted that harpy of a matriarch would've allowed her servants to let her family's perfectly good milk to sour in the milk chute outside when they were one of the families to have one of those strange new American ice boxes.

That meant the milk had just sat forgotten outside for three days, the time when he had made his last delivery. Oliver frowned. Something didn't feel right.

He replaced the spoiled bottles with fresh ones, set the spoiled ones into his cart, and made his way up the front staircase. Oliver hoped he wouldn't be getting some poor little servant girl fired. He sighed, but knocked on the door and then waited. And waited.

And waited. He looked over his shoulder at his cart. He needed to get back to work soon to stay on schedule.

He knocked again without an anwser, and against his better judgment tried the door knob. To his surprise it was open, and without thinking twice about such a breach of privacy he opened the door. He was met with the foulest, most awful odor he had ever endured. Dear God, just what was that?

"Hello?" Oliver called out again, taking a step in to the house. Everything was silent. There was not a soul in sight, yet there was a stack of letters with a letter opener still sitting on the side table matched with a glass of sherry. He walked to the side table, and then heard a moan.

Oliver looked up in the sound's direction, his stomach dropping. Hopefully the Victorias wouldn't feel the need to contact his supervisor for his rude invasion of their home.

"Oh, excuse me-" He stopped dead. The beautiful mahogany staircase showcased in the foyer was smattered and desecrated with blood, thick and dark and awful. As his eyes trailed up the bannister to the top of the stairs, he felt his mouth go dry. But the moan, the moan had come from…

Oliver didn't waste any time. He turned around and ran.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

Notes:

\- West Country is the term for the southwestern edge of England, and aside from several historic towns is a mostly rural region made up of farmland and moorland. It's surrounded by the Bristol Channel on the west and the English Channel on the east.

\- Cromer Hall of East Anglia is the supposedly haunted manor that inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's novel, _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.

\- According to Victorian etiquette for visiting, it is extremely rude to stare or look about a room.

\- Lots of Jane Eyre shout-outs because it's my favorite book, could you pick them all out?

\- Alucard did actually tell the legend of the Black Shuck, but like Pip said it does originate from East Anglia instead of West Country.

\- Tossers = supreme assholes. Lol I'm American and had to look it up too.

Thank you all for your continued support! I love hearing from you all, and am so glad that you're enjoying it so far!

See you next time!

Della


	9. IX

Disclaimer: I'm starting to run out of witty things to put for this, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I don't own _Hellsing_.

That was kind of witty in a way, right?

* * *

 **IX.**

By the time the news had gotten to Integra, the street had been cleared and blocked off, and the windows of the household had been boarded from the outside. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, and they were blessed by cheerful sunshine.

Neighbors within a three-mile radius were told to evacuate a mere twenty-five minutes after the accident was reported and the Force had made their presence known. Integra would've preferred it to be on a larger scale, but since it was (thankfully) an isolated incident she decided not to press the issue. They had more important things to deal with.

The block-off hadn't served to help London's already less than superior traffic, and it took far too long for Integra and Walter to reach the site. She let herself out of the coach a block away, and had been practically flagged down by the men in uniform when she came into view. She tried not to feel a bit satisfied; even though they had taken two hours to ask for Hellsing's assistance, they were learning. These incidents had become more and more frequent in the past few months, but the Force had been irritatingly slow to accept her organization's role in such cases.

But today several investigators ran forward to meet her, Walter, and the rough group of mercenaries she'd hired to replace her old force after a mission gone awry. This wasn't just _any_ case, after all. This wasn't just some questionable death of a prostitute that could've easily been swept under the rug, or the "accidental" death of some friendless beggar. Had Integra had any other choice she would've liked to give a call to that Judas priest down the road since they were technically his parishoners, but she knew that in the end he would do more harm than good. Besides, he already had his hands full with several of the less publicized cases.

Hellsing and the Vatican had recently reached an unlikely, fragile truce in the face of a growing enemy. It seemed that in England there was a new case every week followed by a new body popping up in every dead-end alley. War did create unlikely bedfellows and all that nonsense, but even with their combined efforts the situation was strained at best and they continually failed to get to the root of the problem.

"My Lady," One of the less-informed agents greeted her when she reached the impromptu headquarters located in the townhome opposite the Victorias'. Sir Integra indifferently regarded the expensive couches and rugs stained by mud and cigarette buds. Whomever lived here would have a bone to pick with the Force afterward.

"Sir Hellsing." Walter quickly corrected them for her. The agent blinked, but nodded in apology all the same.

"What of the situation, gentlemen?" Integra strode in to the large bay window that looked into the street with the grace of a courtesan and the control of a seasoned solider. She watched the Geese begin to hastily assemble the last of their weapons and talk last-minute strategy with their second-in-command. Her eyes narrowed. Their leader, Pip, Bernadotte, had-

"Around nine o'clock this morning, a rather nosy milkman stumbled upon the nest of those… things. While the man only spotted one before retreating, we believe there to at least be two to three more within the vicinity. We believe these-"

"Ghouls." Sir Integra interrupted him flatly.

"-ghouls," The commanding officer continued with a frown, "to be the former members of the Victoria family. The man reported spotting dried blood on the stairwell, but saw no sign of foul play aside from such." He grimaced. "The front door was unlocked."

Sir Integra didn't turn from the window. She refrained from heaving a sigh, and forced the oncoming rush of emotion down her throat. She had already been debriefed on the situation and she understood the severity of it, but that didn't make it any less awful or infuriating. The Victorias had been good people, honest people, and certainly hadn't deserved such a fate.

How the hell could this have happened? _Under her watch_?

She'd been slipping recently. Well, truth be told Edith's disappearance hadn't come to Sir Hellsing as a total surprise, but this… _this_ had come as a cold shock, _especially_ with Seras' relationship with the Count. She calmly pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of her waistcoat, disregarding the curious stares directed at her that reflected in the window.

Sir Integra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Three ghouls, was it? Four in total?" She asked stiffly.

"Yes, Sir."

Sir Integra turned and exchanged a pointed, knowing glance with Walter. Four ghouls could include Mr. Victoria, his wife, and two of their servants – every respectable family had more than one. Edith was already gone, but perhaps there was still hope for the eldest. Perhaps Seras hadn't returned home from her journey, and perhaps she had not yet been tainted.

There was still time, Sir Hellsing realized, but not very much left. She already had a suspect and motive, but there was still much that had to be discovered and revealed before she could make her move. By God, they'd have to hurry – she could only assume that this was just his preamble.

"Gentlemen, while I appreciate your efforts," She finally turned to face them, the Victoria household peering in at them from the background, "this matter is now officially under Hellsing's jurisdiction. Any information, reports, witnesses, or any other resource regarding this matter should be directed to my organization, and my organization alone." Sir Hellsing leaned slightly to the right for Walter to light her cigar for her. "Media relations will be handled and monitored by my associate, Walter, and should be cared for with the utmost delicacy."

That didn't seem to sit quite well with one of the lead officers. He made a face, wedged in between his buddies on a gilded sofa, and pushed them to stand up. He was on the latter half of middle-age, tall, stout, and weathered. Perhaps he had worked with Mr. Victoria on the Force, Sir Hellsing mused cynically.

"What, you think we're all a bunch of pillocks*? That we don't know the extremity of the situation, the magnitude of it, goddammit!?" The officer's face was turning red, and his voice was growing more and more strained with each syllable. One of the other officers rested a hand on the man's shoulder, but he angrily shrugged it off.

"Of course I don't believe such a thing." Sir Hellsing bit back, tapping a bit of ash off her cigar. The man watched it fall to the carpet below and scowled. "And because we both understand the gravity of this case in more ways than one, we both understand it to be best that my organization handle this." She was quick to speak that time, quick to cut him off before he could start again. Emotions were dangerous in these sort of situations – he should've known better.

Behind her, there was a sudden blast and then war cries and the sounds of heavy shooting.

"Believe me, sir, I intend on destroying root of this evil." She watched the man's face pacify slightly before turning to gaze out the window once more. She watched the Geese run through the front entrance and into the home. "It is my inheritance, after all."

There was another blast, a bright pillar of yellow fire seen through the windows on the first floor, and of course more gunfire.

"He has only verified his guilt."

* * *

It was during the daylight hours that Pip found himself actually able to relax in the Count's cathedral of a home.

Their first day began with a polite wake-up call from one of the maid staff who brought an apology from Renfield – apparently he was indisposed and regretted his inability to attend to them as was proper. Pip waved it off easy enough for he found the butler to be almost as creepy as his master, and joined Seras and Nora in the Red Room for a country house breakfast* of fresh bread, fish, devilled kidneys, pickled thrush, tea, coffee, and apple and strawberry fools. They were served by that same maid again, who with each appearance had begun to make Pip as nervous as the Count did.

Just as he had warned them the night before, the Count did not join them then nor when they played cards in the billiards room; found a good hundred-year-old book of Saxon mythology and religion in the library; tried to get into the odd, winding tower in the middle of the estate; recessed in the Red Room for a light lunch; nor when they took to the stables, borrowed some lighthearted ponies, and took to the grounds.

But hey, Pip wasn't complaining. He didn't like the Count to begin with, and he had forgotten just how much he'd missed spending time with Seras. There was a small, childish part of him that wanted her all to himself. Whenever he was around, the Count seemed to possess an uncanny ability to draw Seras in like a moth to a flame. Pip found it a rather irritating ability.

They were allowing their ponies to graze at the back of the estate at the moment, for aside from a few statues of ancient Greeks misplaced here and there, a stone bench or two, and a quiet white marble fountain, the Count's garden was sorely lacking. Pip tied his pony's reigns to a nearby statue and turned his back on the mansion to walk to the edge of the hill.

Even from this height, there was still not a soul in sight. Moorland, desolate and sepia, stretched out as far as the eye could see. Pip was torn between feeling an ominous sense of doom and a childish sense of marvel at their absolute isolation in the wilderness.

"It is a beautiful sight." Dry hunks of grass cracked underneath her feet as Seras approached him, and Pip smiled when he could see her next to him out of the corner of his eye.

"I agree." Pip assented, fully turning to look at her.

Seras was smiling brightly at him, her golden hair framing her fair face like an angelic halo. Her smile was genuine, happy, and all-trusting, and her eyes held a warmth in them that took away all the anxiety that had been bubbling up inside him. The warm light of the late afternoon gave her a rosy, ethereal glow that simply took his breath away.

It was moments like these that Pip could only stop and keep himself from staring, and wondering just how he had gotten so lucky to know such a creature. She was a fairy, perhaps, or maybe an angel. Whatever she was, she was far too good to be a human like the rest of them.

Pip smiled back and grinned when he maneuvered backwards to pick a wildflower from a thicket of gorse at their feet. He made an elaborate hand gesture and bowed at the waist, presenting the flower to Seras at arm's length.

"For you, My Lady." His head was bowed and he had the most ridiculous, serious expression on his face. Seras bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud and ruining the moment.

"I thank thee greatly, Good Sir." She said with a rigid voice of formality before giving a stiff curtsy and delicately taking the flower from Pip's fingertips.

"A ha!" Pip suddenly exclaimed, leaping up from the bow with as much pomp and circumstance as a pirate.

"Good God, what is it?" Seras asked, jumping back a full pace into the bracken with a feigned expression of surprise.

"Now Lady Seras, you have fallen right into my trap – you have inadvertently agreed to marry me! Your fortune shall be mine, and no one shall can you!" Pip gave a wicked cackle, and Seras gasped melodramatically. The scene was a familiar one retracted from their many, many, _many_ childhood games of Pirates and Princesses.

"Not if I have anything to-" Seras began her theatrics only to be cut off.

"What's this about _marriage_?" The Count was standing behind them, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed (if they had been able to actually see them behind his glasses.) He looked anything but happy. In fact, he looked absolutely angry. His face was stony, and his lips were drawn back into a tight grimace. His posture was tall, domineering, and it seemed as if suddenly all the twilight shadows had been drawn to him.

Seras could only stare, and wonder why he took such offense to such a silly little comment. A silly little comment in a silly little game, no less! It in turn made her feel rather indignant; she could marry anyone she very well wanted to, and that was her choice! But that was beside the point. He really didn't have to get so worked up over something so little.

Pip was staring as well, but for other reasons. Just how the _hell_ had the Count reached them so quickly? Where had he even come from? The ground was covered in sun-dried grass, heath, and bracken that crunched and crackled underfoot. There was no way he could have just snuck up on them like that, but he had! Just how long had he been standing there anyway, and couldn't this guy take a joke? He had been doing a little bit more than joking himself last night, as Pip recalled.

The monster's head turned toward him – that was what Pip had suddenly resolved to think of him as, anyway – and he tried not to flinch. He resisted the urge to lay his hand in his jacket, over the hidden pocket that hid his revolver. That would be too obvious, and would give away the fact that he was armed. The Count regarded him for a long, tense moment before turning to Seras who, unsurprisingly, had the unabashed gall to look irritated.

"We were playing Pirates and Princesses!" She exclaimed, fisting her hands at her sides and glaring at him with a childish sort of anger. The Count didn't respond. Pip wondered what that meant. He mused that she was probably the only person who could get away with talking back to the Count.

"It was just a game, it should not bother you so!" Seras tried again, only seeming to get more irritated.

Pip wondered if that was a good idea, and tried to discreetly motion to her to _stop that right now, explain herself, and apologize to the possibly homicidal maniac with an obsessive crush_. But of course she didn't get it, let alone catch on to what he was doing. Seras barely spared him an annoyed, confused glance before turning her attention back to the Count again.

Like a moth to a flame.

"Princesses and Pirates?" The Count sneered, but made no move. Pip felt an oncoming headache. He had been getting a lot of those recently.

"Yes!" Seras quipped, looking to Pip for some sort of sign of agreement. Pip eyed her before quickly nodding.

"It's a childhood pastime." She explained further. But the Count remained silent for a good moment or two, yet again making Pip feel threatened on what was supposed to be some sort of relaxing holiday in the country.

"Very well." The Count finally assented before turning on his heel and making toward his castle on foot, padding silently over the grass. Pip and Seras exchanged glances before retrieving their ponies and following the Count toward the back of the mansion.

It wasn't even the end of their first day, and Pip knew that their holiday wouldn't end well.

* * *

"Anything, Walter?" Integra's voice was its usual calm, quite a feat for their current predicament.

"Not at the moment, Sir." Walter called from one of the bedrooms down the Hall.

There were more soldiers downstairs that served more as a stand-by safety precaution than anything else. She sat at the writing desk in Mr. Victoria's study, fiddling with one of the locked drawers. He had a very nice study, filled to the ceiling with expensive leather-bound texts and the tasteful knick-knack here and there. It wasn't as nice as the study at the Hellsing Manor, but it was respectable nonetheless.

The four ghouls had been annihilated swiftly and without causality on Hellsing's part, and before they turned to ash had matched the profiles of Mr. Victoria, Mrs. Victoria, their maid Elizabeth, and one of the scullery maids from the kitchen. All four ghouls were found in different parts of the home, but by analyzing the placing of a majority of the blood splatters and gore it was assumed the victims had been attacked in the master bedroom, at the top of the main stairwell, and in the kitchen.

That was the part that Sir Integra didn't like. What vampire in their right mind would so haphazardly waste so much blood? Not many. Certainly it wasn't unusual to find traces of blood in similar crime scenes, but not to this extent. The carpet had been saturated with it, and had crunched under Sir Integra's feet. She grimaced at the thought; it still disgusted her.

It was a shame that this home had been so desecrated. It was otherwise a very beautiful home in a wonderful neighborhood on a lovely street - making it all the more suspicious. If the assailant had been just another vampire or one of those strange little freaks Anderson had been dealing with lately, they shouldn't have bothered to go through with all the trouble and planning this job had probably entailed.

They would've first had to watch the house for several days before finding the time when all members of the household were in – a feat that hadn't been achieved, Integra noted – before proceeding, found a discrete way to enter the home without drawing attention, and finishing the attack with the least amount of noise as possible to ward off suspicion.

That would, of course, bring up the question of why a vampire hungry for blood would even bother with discretion. And that question was valid. In her experience, Integra had never encountered a starving vampire that cared about such trivial things as attention. But in the Victoria case, discretion had been so perfectly utilized that no one had discovered the crime until three days after the fact.

Integra supposed they had been lucky that no one else had been hurt, and she supposed she should've appreciated the fact that that milkman who'd discovered them had the wits to secure the door before he ran off to the Force. God only knew what could've happened had the ghouls been let loose into the streets of civilized and high-society London.

But there was one member of the family that hadn't been accounted for.

It seems that Seras hadn't returned from her journey, a fact that both gave Sir Hellsing pause and a great relief. It was much too coincidental that Seras had just happened to miss the strategic visit of a vampire, a vampire had seemed to come to kill rather than to feed. Why else would there have been wasted blood, after all?

But just where had Seras ran off to, who had she gone to see, and when was she supposed to be returning?

No one had the answers. Because the Victorias had been paying close attention to Edith's disappearance, their presence had been largely missing from the social scene, and there was little to no gossip on Seras' whereabouts. Not as if Integra would've actually regarded gossip as truth, but sometimes rumors lead to a story with just enough substance to move forward.

The neighbors hadn't known, and neither had any of the Victoria family's friends or acquaintances. Sir Integra recognized the signs all too easily, and found a growing sense of urgency spurring her actions.

If her theory was correct and the Count had somehow staged Edith's disappearance, the deaths of the Victoria family, and managed to lure Seras to a nondescript location on his terms, Sir Integra had to find Seras as quickly as possible and take her as far away from the Count as she could. But if she was correct, doing such a thing would prove astronomically difficult. The Count remembered her family quite well, and she highly doubted he was going to allow himself to be beaten once again.

She stopped picking the lock and looked down. God, her hands were shaking. Her hands never shook. Sir Integra forced herself to take a deep breathe, a calming breath, and tried to vanquish the more consuming thoughts to the back of her mind.

 _Why hadn't she taken Edith more seriously?_

 _Why hadn't she forced Anderson to take her and Edith more seriously?_

 _Why had she allowed this to go on for so long?_

They swirled in her mind in unforgiving, mocking whispers. It was all she could do to ignore them for now. Her guilt would help serve her penance later on, anyway. She had work to do.

The lock to the top right-side drawer in the writing desk was finally opened with a last-ditch jab by a clothes pin she had found in a pincushion in the sitting room. Sir Hellsing nodded to herself. Good, good, just what she had been looking for.

A stack of opened letters bound in wide, worn ribbon sat on top of an endless pile of folders and papers. Sir Integra untied the ribbon and started to shift through the letters, taking time to read the return address of each one before until she came to one with a rather suspicious address. The handwriting was beautiful, thick, and decorated with the richest of black inks. Sir Integra pulled the letter out and nodded again to herself after reading it over several times, before standing from the desk and leaving the library. She inadvertently wondered just what would become of the Victoria home when Seras took it over… _if_ Seras took it over.

"Walter." Sir Integra found him in Seras' bedroom, sitting on the bed of all things and reading through his own pile of letters. The odd look on his face, one she had never seen before, struck her for a moment before he came back to.

"Yes, Sir?" Walter set down the letter he had been holding on the bed next to him. Sir Integra observed him for a moment before inclining her head to the window, where the Wild Geese could still be seen milling about on the street below as they waited for orders.

"Rally the Geese and arrange my affairs. We shall leave for the West Country within the hour." Time was not on their side anymore if what she suspected was true.

"Of course, Sir." Walter stood from the bed at once and made his way out of the bedroom, past Sir Integra and down the hall, not once looking back. Sir Integra watched him go and then glanced at the letters, wondering why Walter had found them to be so interesting.

The clock struck five.

Sir Hellsing shook her head and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. There wasn't any more time for wondering. Not anymore.

* * *

The second day of their stay went better than the first. Pip and Seras repeated their schedule from the previous day, complete with that one creepy little maid instead of Renfield, but minus a temper tantrum thrown by the Count. That certainly hadn't been pleasant to deal with over dinner, to say the least. Conversation had been strained, what with Seras trying to make small talk while the Count made use of his sarcastic humor at Pip's expense. Seras had, of course, defended Pip and the Count, of course, hadn't appreciated that bit very much.

But to Pip's surprise, the Count seemed content to suffer in silence as opposed to throwing his guest out into the moors. Well, he might've done that had it not been guaranteed that Seras wouldn't have allowed it, but that was beside the point. There were no after-dinner drinks or chats, and the Count excused himself to go back to his work (whatever that was.) Pip could've sworn that he had caught a glimpse of Renfield heading up the staircase to the third floor, but perhaps that was only his imagination. This castle seemed to do a number on people, after all.

On the morning of the third day it was Renfield - in all his apathetic glory - who served as their host, and it was Renfield who assured them that Nora had taken ill over the night and had to rest. She was just so ill that she simply couldn't be disturbed so no, Seras, no check-ins were necessary.

"Oh." Seras tried her best not to look too worried when Renfield came to fetch her for breakfast. Something had changed about the butler since the last time she had seen him… something was off. It made her nervous, anxious even, so she subconsciously tried to stay on his good side.

What was off about him though, she couldn't quite pick out. Renfield was still the same, terrifyingly cool man she remembered him to be. His outfit was as impeccable as per the usual, and his manners were perfectly cordial and refined. There was nothing wrong with him. Perhaps there was something wrong with her…?

Yes, Seras mused pessimistically, perhaps there was something wrong with her. Ever since she had arrived at the Count's castle she just hadn't been able to shake the most horrible feeling of dread and paranoia. It felt like the paintings they walked by followed her with their eyes, watching her every movement, and that she was constantly being appraised and judged by unseen eyes. She hadn't been able to sleep very well recently, so that might've had something to do with it.

Besides, she should be enjoying such a wonderful opportunity. What with the Count being so absorbed by his work, Pip and Seras effectively had an entire mansion at their disposal. They should've been having a blast! And they had been having a blast, until the Count showed his jealous side again on the first night of their stay.

Seras had felt irritated enough to disagree with him right then and there and then purposefully spend all her time with Pip, but that would've put Pip in an even worse place with the Count… and Pip wasn't exactly beloved already. No, it had been better to simply go along with the Count and keep a small but present distance from Pip, if only for the duration for their stay. Sometimes some things just weren't worth the fight.

Renfield lead her into the Red Room where Pip sat waiting for her, sipping steaming coffee from a delicate porcelain cup like a true French gentleman.

"Good morning, Pip!" Seras exclaimed as soon she walked into the room, waving at him as if they hadn't seen each other in ages.

"Good morning, _mignonette_!" Pip laughed, happy to see her in such good spirits again. He had been afraid that the dreariness of this place was getting to her as well.

"I assume you had pleasant dreams?" Seras took a seat opposite him. They sat in the middle of the long, ten-seat dining table – the supposedly informal dining room of the manor.

"Of course, for you are always in my dreams, _ma cher_." Pip grinned cheekily as several maids and Renfield entered the room and began placing dishes of swordfish, venison, fresh breads with fresh cream butter, raspberry and blueberry tarts, Darjeeling tea, and coffee on the table.

"Well, you _do_ know what they say, Pip." Seras returned his grin for one of her own as she buttered a breakfast roll. "'Only in your dreams,' no?"

"Oh my dear Seras, you wound me!" Pip laughed as Renfield refilled his cup with hot coffee, not a single drop marring the saucer.

"All's fair in love and war!" Seras quipped back.

"Are you anything without your clichés?" Pip mock-deadpanned as he reached for the swordfish dish. Seras slapped his hand and instead handed it to him. There was way too much food for two people.

"Certainly you jest?" Seras asked, batting her eyes innocently. Pip rolled his.

They finished breakfast rather quickly, and decided to spend the day riding and exploring the surrounding moors further. Pip was just happy to get out and away from the Count and his gloomy gray manor for once. They spent the morning simply wandering about on horseback, enjoying the landscape, and retreated back to the mansion for a light picnic of lunch-sandwiches and cakes before venturing out again.

While he was glad to have become more familiar with the landscape, their outing drove home the point of just how truly alone they were. They'd probably ridden for several miles in the same direction, following the road, and did not once encounter any other form of human life. Pip found it extremely disheartening, and really wished they had brought their own carriage with them instead of using the Count's services. Pip gritted his teeth as they rode home, hating the helplessness that inadvertently sprang up in his heart. If the Count decided to do anything to Seras, he would be her first and last line of defense.

And although Pip could hold his own, this would be on the Count's terms. The man – Pip preferred monster – had a clear advantage in knowing the landscape and that Seras was one of the most naïve girls in the world. He was going to have to shatter that bubble, Pip realized, he was going to have to warn her.

They returned with just enough time to prepare for dinner, the sun still above the horizon. Pip grabbed Seras' arm and pulled her inside one of the many drawing rooms of the manor, away from prying eyes and open ears.

"Pip! What is it?" Seras complained as he dragged her inside the room before softly shutting the door behind him. The room's color scheme was composed of surprisingly soothing shades of cream and gray-blue that struck Pip as far too innocent and sweet to be used in the Count's mansion.

When he didn't answer right away, Seras took a seat on a velour-padded loveseat and crossed her arms. "I need to dress for dinner, you know. I'm still in my riding habit, and my hair is certainly in a dreadful state." She reminded him, just in case he couldn't see the obvious.

Pip slowly turned to her, his face serious. Seras frowned, instantly feeling uneasy. Pip wasn't a serious man by nature. Whatever this was about wasn't good.

"Seras…" Pip began, taking a step forward as if to launch in to some lecture before cutting himself short. God, just how was he supposed to address this without terrifying her, but making sure she was scared enough to be weary? Seras wasn't exactly inclined to the less than… seemly ways of men. Pip was pretty sure holding hands _without gloves_ was still a pretty big deal for her.

"Seras, you understand that the Count holds a certain degree of… fondness for you, correct?" Okay, that wasn't off to a bad start. Not too shabby.

"Yes…" Seras eyed him warily.

"And you understand that the Count-" Pip cut himself off again, "The Count is a man." Obviously.

"He is indeed." Seras replied evenly, regarding him with a rather confused expression. Yes, the Count was a man and yes, he was rather fond of her. What point was Pip trying to get across?

Pip stared at Seras for a long moment before shaking his head. This was proving to be a bit harder than he had intended it be.

"Seras, sometimes men act rashly and carelessly when they allow certain emotions and feelings to get the better of them. On some occasions, these feelings involve women, and on some occasions these women can be hurt by these men in more ways than one. Because in this manor we are so alone, so isolated from others," Pip paused for a moment, "I implore you to be aware of yourself and your surroundings, lest the Count's intentions be not pure of heart." There. It was said.

Seras gave him a good, long look before blinking. And then blushing. Her cheeks became bright red, and her eyes widened. "O-oh, I don't believe… but then, one never knows for certain… does-does he really… would he really…?" Seras stammered, wringing her hands together. Pip couldn't help but smile at her flabbergasted expression. '

"One can never be too careful, _ma cher_." Pip offered a hand to help her stand up. Seras gave him a concerned look.

"You don't believe he'd attempt to… to take advantage of me, do you? I wouldn't believe his motives to be so… so…"

"I know not what he thinks, but then neither do you. I simply offer a warning because I care for you, and do not want to see your heart broken." He really, really didn't. It was break his own.

"Thank you, dear Pip. I know not what I'd do without you." Seras forced a small smile.

Pip could still see the distress, the sudden uncertainty still lingering in her eyes, but decided not to press. He was happy she was heeding his warnings; it would make it all the harder for the Count, lest he had any plans. Pip didn't like to think about it, but he was almost certain that the Count did. It would be too out of character for him not to.

"And I know not what I'd do without you, Seras." Pip gratefully returned her smile.

They parted at the staircase to prepare for the evening meal, and met each other at it again about an hour later. The time read seven and forty, and Renfield soon approached them to bring them to the Red Room. Apparently the Count was already waiting on them and had somehow gotten past them, though neither Pip nor Seras knew of a different staircase. Well, there was probably a secret one tucked away somewhere.

Dinner was just as stiff and boring and formal as it had been the past two nights. The food served was decadent and delicious, but the more social aspect of the meal had been strained at best. The Count was apparently above small talk (and food, for he never touched anything other than his wine) and Pip had absolutely nothing he wanted to discuss with the man. Even Seras, the one that had been before trying to maintain some sort of cheeriness at the table, found it hard to socialize tonight.

The words she had shared with Pip weighed heavy on her mind. What did she _really_ mean to the Count? Did he see her as a person, or just another woman to bed? Was that his intent, and if so, was she in danger? Would the Count force himself on her, or would he simply seduce her and try to make her putty in his hands?

Seras was really starting to regret her hasty decision. Good lord, what was she doing, thinking of staying at a man's estate in the middle of no where? This wasn't a good situation to be in. Her chaperone was sick in bed, plagued by some indeterminable illness, and Pip and the Count weren't exactly getting along. The Count had begun to be grow more hostile and possessive as she spent more time with Pip, and Seras could barely stand it anymore. She had come here to relax and forget, but instead she was stressed and upset.

When the small group left the Red Room for the drawing room for those accursed after-dinner drinks, Seras feigned a stomach cramp and made for the powder room with acting that would make her mother proud. The Count had given her an odd look, but pointed it out for her nonetheless. Pip had already turned a corner down a different hall, and didn't see where she went.

Seras followed the Count's directions and finally found the powder room, but didn't step inside. Instead, she was drawn to two large open doors at the end of this particular hall that lead to a large, concrete balcony bathed in moonlight. She made her way to the balcony hesitantly, suddenly overcome with the feeling that she was sneaking around in places she had no business in, and closed the doors softly behind her.

She had a few minutes to herself before the Count would begin to worry and come after her. Their scarcity made them all the more precious. Seras quietly stepped out onto the balcony, her pale lilac gown painted silver in the moonlight, and made her way to the railed edge. The balcony was very spacious, large enough to host a moderate party, but utterly desolate. There were no furniture or flowers in sight.

The balcony was stationed on the second-floor, and being that the estate was located on the top of a hill, had a beautiful view of the bleak and all-encompassing moorland. Even though she was certain she could see for miles, there was no light or other signs of life in sight. It was just as Pip said. Aside from each other, they were completely alone.

Seras shuddered involuntarily. All the more reason why she shouldn't have put herself in this situation. But at the time she had been so distressed, so emotional, and so tired that she had let her feelings and wants get the better of her good judgment. Seras hadn't allowed herself to think the proposal through; she had accepted it much too quickly, and so had her parents. Not that she could blame them, though. They had enough on their plate as it was.

Her thoughts drifted from her problems with the Count to her problems with her family. How were her parents doing, she wondered? Was there any new information on Edith? Had they gotten the letter she had penned and put in the post the night of their arrival? Seras stifled a sigh. She had been rather selfish to pack up her bags and leave as quickly as she had.

"Police Girl."

Seras' eyes widened and she gulped. Oh, great, the person she had subconsciously been trying to avoid decided to hunt her down. Wonderful. Wait, just how long had she been out here anyway?

"M-my Lord!" She exclaimed as she quickly turned on her heel, skirts fluttering. She sucked in a breath upon realizing how close he was – only a few feet away. Seras hadn't even heard him open the door to the balcony, let alone his footsteps.

To her relief, the Count didn't seem to be angry or irritated with her impromptu exploration. His features were decidedly neutral, but he was bathed in the shadow outside the moonlight. Seras took a slight step back to lean against the high railing, resting her hands in her lap.

"Be careful, Police Girl." He commented, nodding at her seat. "It wouldn't do for you to die so early in the night."

Seras laughed despite herself. She rather enjoyed his dark sense of humor. "I shall try. I apologize for keeping you, My Lord. I needed to clear my head." She admitted, shivering as a cool wing blew over them. The Count didn't make a move to approach her.

"Of what?" He asked after a moment. Seras blinked.

"Pardon, My Lord?"

"What thoughts did you need to rid yourself of, Police Girl?" The Count asked this time, taking a step forward into the moonlight. Seras stared at him, entranced. There was a sort of dark, ethereal beauty to him that reminded her of a storybook demon or villain. Tall, dark, enchanting, but undoubtedly maleficent. But then she shook her head, remembering just why she had come out here in the first place.

"Actually, My Lord…. I wanted to ask you a question." She paused. "A serious question." She added.

The Count cocked his head to the side in apparent acceptance of the question, his features betraying not a hint of emotion. Seras wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but took the hint and decided to ask him anyway.

"My Lord, forgive me for being so forward… but what am I to you?" It came out as an uncertain whisper, fit for a scary question with an even scarier answer. "What is it that you want from me?" But she simply had to know. She just had to.

Seras clasped her hands together and buried them in her lap, staring at them all the while. She was unable to meet his gaze, unwilling to examine the expression on his face lest she be able to read his emotions and heighten her shame. But such was not necessary. The Count laughed. He actually _laughed._

She felt her cheeks burn in shame and humiliation, her eyes starting to prickle with hot tears. He was laughing at her? This wasn't funny! This wasn't funny _at all!_ She looked up, biting her lip, only to see that he had gotten even closer to her. Seras wished he wasn't so beautiful, it made this so much harder.

"Oh Police Girl… can't you see?" The Count purred with a dark chuckle, gently taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face to look up into his. His other hand slowly found its place under her arm and possessively at her waist.

"I simply want _you_." He breathed, his lips pulled into a wicked smile as he suddenly descended on her. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft on her own, but utterly demanding in their conquest. His hand gracefully traced the side of her face before burying itself into her soft, light blonde hair.

Had it been under different circumstances in a different place at a different time, Seras might've actually enjoyed the kiss. But it only came as a complete shock and - after his confession – evidence of the truth behind Pip's words.

Seras shrieked under his assault and wasted no time in abruptly pushing him off her once the shock wore off, her cheeks bright red and tears welling in her eyes. Well, that certainly confirmed her previous misgivings.

How _could_ he? So all this time he had been putting up a front to get to her, to use her for her body? How could he ever try to use her like that? How could he ever even think of her like that! She wasn't some prostitute, she was a respectable lady! The betrayal was fresh and cut deeper than she had thought it would. She had thought so much better of him, she would've never expected such a thing to come from him!

"I am not your _**whore**_ **!"** Seras spat with such vehemence the Count had the nerve to look unhappy. How dare he have the nerve to look upset!

She furthered her point by giving him a loud, crackling slap on the cheek. He took it without flinching, and seemed to be shocked by her actions. Well, fine.

Seras wasted no time in running away from the Count and the balcony, rushing down the slippery halls with their awful paintings and creepy knick-knacks. How hadn't she realized it before? Oh, what a fool she'd been! She had to get out of here! She had to get home that night!

The clock struck ten.

Her feet lead her to the main hall, where she bumped into Pip exiting the drawing room just as she turned the corner into the garishly decorated entrance hall.

"Seras!" Pip yelled, practically being pushed over by the force she ran into him with. He glared at her and opened his mouth to make some witty comment about running like a girl, when he saw her face.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her hairs was disheveled, her lips were swollen, and he had never seen the look of utter betrayal and hopelessness on her face before. Her usually bright, baby blue eyes bored into his before she latched on to him, sobbing into his chest.

"Oh, oh Pip!" She managed to sputter in between sobs, clutching him like a baby blanket. "Y-you were right! You were right about him!" Seras cried and cried, practically inconsolable.

Pip stared down at her, his body tense and his mind slightly unsure of how to deal with this situation.

"What did he do, Seras?" He'd kill the bastard himself.

"Nothing!" She shrieked into his shirt. "Nothing at all! You were just right!" She sobbed. "You were right…"

Pip relaxed slightly. She had really cared for the Count, hadn't she? He tried not to sigh, and instead ran one hand through her hair and wrapped the other around her waist. "There there, _ma cher_ , there there…" He whispered.

"I would like to go home, Pip." She whispered after her cries had died down to a muffled whimper. He nodded, still combing his fingers through her bangs like he had when they were younger.

"Of course, of course. We shall begin to pack to-"

Pip was interrupted by a loud, incessant banging on the large front door. Pip frowned and looked down to share an equally confused glance with Seras. Visitors, at this hour?

Renfield suddenly came out of nowhere, brushing by them to throw open the door with a dramatic flair. In front of him stood a disgruntled farm youth with eyes hidden by the rim of a wide straw hat. His clothes were roughly torn and scratched, and he kept on bouncing his weight from foot to foot. He was anxious, nervous.

"We need help, we need help now!" The youth cried out in shaky breaths, jabbing his finger at the darkness behind him. "Papa and I made a wrong turn, ended up on your drive, got attacked by wolves in that little grove at the bottom of the hill! They killed our horse, overturned our cart, Papa's under it!" His words were frantic and jumbled, but even so the fear was evident in them. "I scared them away but they may come back! Please, please you must hurry!" The youth was yelling desperately now, and even went so far as to reach inside and grab Renfield's arm.

The butler simply regarded the youth with the same detached, unreadable expression he regarded everything else with, and calmly unlatched the boy's hand from his arm. Renfield looked from the boy to Pip in silent question.

Pip met the butler's eerie, black gaze and then looked to Seras, who merely nodded in approval. Pip let go of her and ran to stand at the butler's side, resting a reassuring hand on the youth's shoulder.

"Don't worry _monsieur_ , we shall help your Papa." Pip tried to smile at him. The youth returned his own version of a tired, scared smile. Renfield nodded and pulled out a pocket watch to quickly check the time before looking over his shoulder at Seras.

"This shall not take long, Lady Seras. Please return to your chambers to rest." Renfield addressed her before shuffling the other two men out the door, shutting it loudly behind them. Seras stared at the door for a moment, still trying to absorb just what had happened in the last few hundred seconds. Since when did Renfield do his own dirty work?

Once two other horses were drawn out of the stable for Renfield and Pip, the youth broke out into a frantic gallop and lead them down the hill into the copse of tree Seras and Pip had passed through earlier to arrive at the mansion. It chilled him to think that there were wolves lurking in these woods, and that had their fortunes been different perhaps it would've been Seras and himself running up to the mansion to beg for help.

Suddenly, the farm youth in front of Pip and Renfield stopped. Pip frowned, and looked around. Although it was dark, there was a full moon that still gave them a bit of light to help guide their way. But even with that light, Pip could not see a cart or horse or trapped man anywhere in sight. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Pip turned to glance at Renfield, who was pointing a revolver at the sky.

"Stop, what are you do-" He was too late, and the blast rang out, startling his ride. The horse neighed in fright and stood on his hindquarters, flinging Pip off in the process before the steed back toward the mansion. Then, almost as soon as he'd hit the ground flat on his face, another shot rang out and he felt a horrible, searing pain in his hamstring.

The damn butler had shot him in the leg!

"What the hell?" Pip yelled in anger, struggling to pull himself into a more dignified position.

"Quite an excellent performance, Xavier." Renfield proceeded to ignore the man he had just shot to address the farm youth with just as much excitement as he had ever shown. The youth yanked his hat off with a scowl, guiding his horse to loom over Pip. Even from his position on the ground, Pip could see the burning amber eyes glaring down at him in the dark.

"That's Master to you, _Fledging_." Xavier snapped at Renfield, still scowling as he looked over Pip with a shake of his head.

"Shall I finish it then?" Renfield asked indifferently, lowering his gun in the general direction of Pip's head. Pip stiffened when he heard the audible click of metal. But Xavier shook his head.

"No, we have already crossed the line far too greatly. It's best to allow that thing to bear the brunt of the guilt; we already hold too much." Xavier shook his head, looking down to regard Pip once again. "Not a very dignified death I'm afraid, but I suspect our King didn't hold you in very high regard anyway, Frenchman. He would've gotten to you eventually had we not." The vampire explained, guiding his horse to stand next to Renfield's.

Then without another word, the pair turned and rode back up the hill, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Pip coughed, curled up in fetal position and clutching at his leg. He had certainly been shot before, but they must have used some sort of special bullet. Never had getting shot hurt so badly.

Never mind, he had to stop the bleeding quickly, and make his way back up to the house to warn Seras! He didn't know who this Xavier fellow was or how he and Renfield were affiliated, but he could only imagine what the Count would do not that Seras was alone! She didn't even know how to use a gun, why had he never shown her-

 _Grrrr…._

Pip froze, his eyes widening. Oh, shit.

He craned his neck over his shoulder to look in to the black woods behind him, only to be met with ten malicious, blood red eyes.

* * *

 **{A/N}**

 **Notes:**

\- Pillocks: idiots

\- While most popular during the late nineteenth century up until the second World War, a country house breakfast was made to be of "honest," plain _English_ food that sprang from your own garden or estate. It was made to be grand enough to sustain a well-to-do man's day of hunting, riding, and shooting, making lunch a mere picnic and dinner a larger and more sophisticated, French event.

Haha yeah, I've been slacking on getting these up. Sorry about that! We'll see if I can get these up a little quicker.

Until next time!

Della


	10. X

Disclaimer: Well. I don't own Hellsing. I'd hoped we'd come to that conclusion months ago!

* * *

 **X.**

 _What the hell was that thing?_

Pip stared into the blackness. While the moon was full and bathed the path in silver light, it simultaneously bolstered the strength of the darkness and made it harder to see in to the copse of trees. Of course, it wasn't hard at all to pinpoint the ten searing, glowing crimson eyes glowering back at him.

The thing had an atrocious growl, like the warped howl of a lone wolf twisted with that of a hound. Pip sucked in a breath when he heard twigs and branches begin to crunch as the eyes slowly grew bigger and the beast drew near. Pip's eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched together so hard he knew he'd get a migraine from it later – if there was a later. He could only guess who had arranged this, and for what reason.

Well, Pip decided that he would have a say in his own fate. He wasn't about to let himself be killed so easy.

Though still in fetal position and clutching his leg to his chest, Pip grabbed for the revolver in the hidden pocket of his jacket. Thank God he had at the foresight to be armed at all times! For once, the paranoia that came with the underground life he lead with the Geese finally came in handy in the overworld. He forced the polished silver weapon out of his jacket in frenzied jerks, the blood loss beginning to make it harder and harder to focus. Pip took a deep breath, desperately trying to combat the nausea and light-headedness that were starting to take hold.

 _Oh, God!_

Pip looked up, and just barely managed to hold down the scream in the back of his throat. His entire body stiffened, momentarily paralyzed by a fear he had never known before. For the first time in his life, regardless of the supernatural life-or-death situations he'd faced as leader of the Wild Geese, Pip felt true terror. It was all-consuming, all-powerful, and something that could never be accurately described except through experience. It ripped through his muscles and went straight to his heart.

Standing before him at the edge of the thistle was some sort of hideous, warped hellhound form of what remotely looked like the Count's dog, Baskerville. But this animal was no longer a dog. It was a _monster,_ a monster that looked tall enough to reach Pip's shoulders had he been back on his feet. Its terrible jaws were drawn ludicrously far in a mock grin, revealing hideously large rows of long, deadly teeth. Saliva carelessly dripped from its lips, and Pip was certain he could guess what it had on its mind.

But as if that wasn't horrifying enough, the hound's fur seemed to attract, link, and control the very shadows themselves. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, it was like nothing he had ever imagined. They twisted out from the trees and flittered around the hellhound like thin little ribbons, twitching and moving as he did.

The two stared at each other for a long, silent moment. But then the safety on Pip's gun was released and several more eyes on different parts of the hound's body opened. Pip bit his tongue, mentally fighting to keep his dinner down. If he vomited now, the creature would have an opportunity to attack first, and Pip wouldn't be at full capacity to defend himself. Pip's eyes narrowed – he couldn't afford to look away for even a second.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when the sounds of cracks and pops filled the air, and he saw the shadows surrounding Baskerville flicker like flames as the beast took a single step forward. Pip scooted back, biting his tongue even harder, and took aim at one of the central eyes on the hellhound's face and fired.

Pip held his breath.

The hound didn't growl, but did take a step back – and that was all he needed. Pip took aim and shot again, and again, and again! He wasn't about to just lie down and die! If he had to die, he'd take this demon back to hell with him!

A thin fog of dirt from the path was kicked up from the blasts that filled the air and while in the back of his mind he knew it was a lost cause, Pip sucked in a deep breath and rolled to the other side of the road. Oh God, the pain. It felt like someone had set fire to his leg after they'd just finished rubbing salt in his wound. And how far had he even gotten? Eight feet? Nine? Ten at best? He wanted to scream, to cry! He couldn't get up and fight, or even run, in his condition!

The dust began to settle, revealing the behemoth form of the hellhound still standing, albeit with a few eyes closed. The creature was strangely composed and didn't make a sound though Pip could plainly see dark, almost purple blood running from most of its closed eyes. No, instead Baskerville calmly stared at Pip with his good eyes, as if merely taking a little time out to observe his prey.

And then the hound leaned back on his haunches, that malicious grin of pointy teeth returning tenfold. Pip held up his gun, ready to beat the beast back until he was too dead to fight anymore.

But suddenly, to Pip's relief and panic, there was the unexpected thunder of hooves coming up the path to the mansion. Good God, what next? Pip grit his teeth. The hellhound's lips drew back even farther – Pip hadn't realized that was possible – into a mocking snarl. His eyes narrowed in one enormous, simultaneous flicker that caught Pip's breath.

For the first time, Baskerville actually looked like it wanted to kill. Pip swore his heart stopped in that moment. His bullets had done nothing. He was going to die; but he didn't want to catch anyone else in this bloody mess.

"Stay back! There's monster here, beware!" Pip tried to yell over the horses, though judging from the fact that they hadn't turned back, they either hadn't heard Pip or had decided to go through the copse anyway.

"Leave, dammit! Leave now!" Pip tried to scream again, but his voice began to break and fail him. Goddammit!

The Hound seemed to smile cruelly, a dark promise laced in his teeth, and leaned back on his haunches like the privileged predator he was. Pip sucked in another breath, raising his gun and resolved to beat off the brute when it came for him, when –

 **BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!**

The largest, most central eyes of Baskerville's upper body were shot with chilling accuracy, blood spurting in thick streams on to Pip. Pip stared at the beast in slight shock. _That_ certainly hadn't happened when he'd shot the beast! He managed to skid a few feet back on his bottom, smearing blood along the dirt path as even more shots were fired.

Pip watched in gruesome fascination as each eye was targeted, shot, and ruptured under the force of the bullet. He found a sort of macabre admiration for the hellhound who, while his body was convulsing under the uninterrupted stream of bullets, did not falter or fall. He gulped, taking in the injury.

"Captain! Captain, are you well?"

"Captain?!"

"Mr. Bernadotte?!"

"Captain Bernadotte, this is a true surprise. I wasn't aware you enjoyed vacationing the moors."

In hindsight, it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. Sir Hellsing had discovered the Victoria and Bernadotte families' relationship when she began researching Seras and Edith after Edith approached her oh so few months ago. The possibility of him accompanying Seras had crossed her mind when Pip suddenly asked for several extended personal holidays, but at the time she had had more pressing matters to attend to and promptly forgot about it.

If they made it out of this mess, Sir Hellsing swore never to underestimate or overlook anyone or anything ever again.

Pip was swiftly snapped out of his morbid thoughts at the sound of those voices. Could it be? Could it really be possible? Oh, God was good! He couldn't believe it! He managed to indignantly roll onto his other side, and looked up to meet the worried gazes of three of his Wild Geese, Walter C. Dornez, and the infamous Sir Hellsing herself! Oh, God was great!

Well, Sir Hellsing wasn't exactly looking at him – or looking worried, for that matter. She sat on her high horse, a sterling silver revolver in each hand, firing shot after perfect shot into the beast without so much as a second's slip in concentration. Pip stared up at her in a sort of drunk awe, a true god of death, a Valkyrie, in a dark navy pantsuit and matching greatcoat.

"Weapons ready!" Sir Hellsing commanded as she fired her last round, cursing under her breath. Walter quickly urged his horse forward as Sir Integra reloaded and the Geese grabbed for their weapons, moonlight flashing as razor wires flew through the air and the connected with the hellhound in a very painful way. But the beast still had yet to show any outward signs of pain.

One of the Geese leapt down from his horse as the others worked, quickly making his way to Pip.

"Captain, what the hell happened to you!?" He asked in a panic, rolling Pip onto his back and frowning when he saw his leader's leg. "Aw, shit. They used the same shit we have."

"Care to explain?" Pip grunted as the soldier quickly pulled out a pocket knife and pulled off his shirt, cutting up a makeshift bandage. The soldier wrapped it around his leg in shaky, a bit too uncertain pulls.

"Fire, now!" Sir Hellsing ordered, large blasts booming directly over their heads.

"Shit!" The soldier cursed, ducking down on the ground next to Pip as the other Geese emptied their shells of only-God-knew-what. Pip his lip, his eye starting to water and sting from the dust being kicked up by the blasts.

"Henderson! Help Captain Bernadotte up! Medical attention will have to occur later, and in a safer area." Sir Hellsing finally turned the brunt of her attention on them once the other Geese had finished firing and the dust finally began to clear. There was a tense, horribly still silence as everything settled.

The beast still stood, though whether that was by his own power or by Walter's wires was yet to be determined. Pip didn't think it mattered. He couldn't bear to look at it above its legs, because he knew what sickening sight of blasted flesh and blood and battered eyes awaited him. The Geese next to him mumbled something incoherent, and Pip felt his and another pair of arms lift him up onto a saddle before he finally gave way to unconsciousness.

Sir Hellsing watched silently as Henderson leapt up to sit behind the incapacitated Captain Bernadotte before turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Walter." She spoke, staring at the mutilated beast before them. She had seen her fair share of blood and horror, but this… this demon… Sir Integra finally allowed herself to look away.

"I believe it to be restrained, Sir." His voice was calm, but she could hear the stress hidden behind it. However, stress was not fear.

"Release it."

"Yes, Sir."

The wires drew back with a snap. The beast stood for a long moment, facing them, watching them with unseeing eyes. Or could he still see out of those? It wouldn't have surprised her if he could. He was a demon, after all.

But then, to her slight surprise, the beast fell forward flat on its stomach. Sir Integra looked to Walter and nodded. That was about as good a thing as they could've hoped for, and they could waste no more time. It was actually a miracle, really. They seemed to have breached the first line of the Count's defense without much incident, but there was no telling how they'd go over with the second tier. She glanced over to shoulder to see Pip's limp and bloodied form leaning against that of Henderson, and pushed down the emotions she felt. It wouldn't do any good for them if she lost her calm. They had a plan to keep.

"Forward!" Sir Integra commanded, grudgingly guiding her horse around to continue down the path and effectively turning her back on the battered hellhound. She and her men pressed on, now not solely for the sake of Seras Victoria.

"Sir!" Walter suddenly shouted from behind her, a worried edge to his usually composed tone. Sir Hellsing stopped and whipped her head around just in time to watch Baskerville wearily pull himself up to his paws, his eyes half-lidded but filled with the most malicious hate she had ever seen. Her body unconsciously shuddered under the sheer weight of the hound's rage-filled gaze… yet the monster did nothing.

The atmosphere changed of its own accord. Shadows suddenly grew longer, effectively blocking out the light of the moon above them and encasing them in the blackness that she'd so very wanted to avoid. Their four horses began to neigh and whine in alarm, and drew closer to each other and the center of the path as if afraid to even touch the encroaching shadows.

The beast did nothing but glower at them with unbridled hatred. It was only a matter of time before he decided to take his revenge.

"Make a change of course!" She decided on the spot. It wasn't safe in this wood any longer, even if it did give them a safer and faster route to the mansion. What good would they be to Seras - and now Captain Bernadotte - if they were killed by Baskerville before they even got to the Hall?

Sir Hellsing guided her horse to face the opposite direction and started off in the course they had come in, her horse charging into a break-neck speed almost as soon as she urged him forward. She cursed under her breath when she was practically thrown backward from the sudden force, but by the grace of God somehow managed to hold on.

The five members of their party miraculously made it back onto the main road and out of that haunted wood, a luxury Sir Hellsing hadn't quite expected to be given by Baskerville. She had been relatively certain the hound wanted to kill them then and there, and would make good on his claim if they wanted to go back that way. So then why hadn't he?

Of course.

She shook her head at her own stupidity. Baskerville was stalling them, and he had done a good job of it. He wasn't meant to kill them. It would take their group another good twenty to thirty minutes to skate around the mile-long patch of wood and trace a new way up the hill to Cramer Hall. She bit her tongue to prevent anymore vulgarities to slip from her lips. Goddamn that crafty, detail-oriented Count. She urged the group forward down the group, just on the edge of the copse, and after a good half hour they'd started to forge their own path just north of the trees. Finally they came upon the hill.

The mansion slowly appeared as they galloped further up the hill, finally breaking out of that accursed grove of trees and into open ground. At least here they'd be able to see what was coming at them, and wouldn't be surprised or ambushed.

She glanced at the battered body of her captain out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't the most level-headed man she'd ever met, but he also wasn't one to simply put himself in the dangerous position they'd found him in. Sir Hellsing shook her head and forced herself to return her focus forward. The Count had to be stopped once and for all. His reign of terror had to end.

There were lights on in the mansion, the first floor being almost entirely lit, the second floor sparingly so, and the third floor – though it offered the most windows –totally black. The building itself was unsurprisingly gothic and creepy and dark, a seemingly perfect personification of the Count's taste. It worried her that there was a lack of servant activity on the outside premises, regardless of the hour. Manors like these rarely truly slept, and to see anything different didn't serve as a good omen.

She sharply held out her hand at her side when she reached the beginning of the drive as a signal to stop, sucking in a breath when the front door opened and two figures emerged. She resisted the urge to chuckle, lest it disturb her companions. It seemed that they had been expected after all.

How ironically unsurprising.

"Simone, Henderson," Sir Hellsing hissed as she gave the signal, never once taking her icy blue eyes off the two newcomers. The Count was not one of them, but she'd done enough research to identify the taller of the two to be his suspiciously loyal butler, Renfield. Sir Hellsing couldn't identify the other man, but his scruffy appearance made his relationship with the Count and the situation hard to imagine.

The two soldiers she'd named quickly drew their horses on either side of her, Pip still sprawled precariously in front of Henderson. "This mansion has a stable complete with several carriages behind it, to the left of its back courtyard." She knew this for a fact. She practically had this house's geography committed to memory after she'd acquired its blueprints with a few carefully placed bribes.

Simone could see where this was going. "We shall not leave you, Sir." But his voice wavered.

Sir Hellsing could plainly see how torn he was by the situation. He couldn't just leave his commander there with only Walter – who, he grudgingly admitted, was pretty tough – and just one other Geese as back up in this den of wolves. While as a contract killer he owed her nothing more than a few vampires' heads on a platter, he couldn't help but like the woman. But on the other hand, he couldn't just allow his captain to go without medical attention.

Somehow the bastard who'd shot the Captain had gotten hold of the special blessed silver bullets Hellsing and the Vatican had recently begun to use in combat against vampires and their ghouls. The bullets were extremely effective in finishing off ghouls in record time and differed from previous prototypes because after making contact, the barrel twisted and ingrained seeds of blessed silver deeper into the flesh of the creature. Simone had never heard of its effects on humans, but now…

Well, now they knew that it certainly could pack a punch.

"I did not ask." Her facial expression was impassive, but her voice carried an authoritative tone. "I commanded it. You and Henderson shall go to the stables, assemble a carriage, and depart to take Captain Bernadotte to the physician in the nearest village. He will not survive otherwise." One look at Pip's ashen face upgraded her comment from "assumption" to "likely probability."

They'd just barely made it in time to save him from Baskerville, too. After mapping out the address she'd found written in a letter from the Count in Mr. Victoria's desk and hastily assembling her barrage of weapons, soldiers, and war plans, Sir Hellsing rushed her troops from London to West Country and barely making the journey in a little under four and a half hours herself.

She'd started with a much larger brigade of Geese, but had chosen to ride ahead with Walter and three of her best men to make better time. And thank God she had. Her thighs were chafed raw, her hamstrings were on fire, her eyes burned and sweat pooled at her lower back, but all that didn't matter. There were much greater, much worse things to worry about.

Against all logic, the two figures actually seemed to be waiting for them. They stopped at the edge of the (she hated to admit it) tasteful dark brick sidewalk, and Sir Hellsing could just make out Renfield to have his hands clasped behind his back like any respectable butler should. The other was slouched over, arms crossed, face no doubt drawn into a scowl. They were still too far away and the night too dark for her to see for certain.

But that didn't mean they'd be patient, and Sir Hellsing doubted they had any business with Captain Bernadotte. It was a gamble, but she believed they'd disregard Pip and his escorts as long as she wasn't with them.

"Go now." Sir Hellsing fixed them with a look. Henderson and Simone exchanged glances, but nodded nonetheless. They flicked their reigns and took off into a quick canter, and Integra only turned her attention back to the two men once she had watched her own disappear from view.

Renfield and his companion still had yet to move a muscle.

Despite a nagging feeling in the back of her mind and against her better judgment, Sir Hellsing gave the signal to move forward. They rode on the drive and took to the left side, the side farthest from the house and the walk. The three riders stopped several meters away from the two, right on the edge of Cramer Hall.

There was a complete silence, the kind of fleeting silence that one realizes cannot last long but refuses to break anyway. Renfield stepped off the walk and on to the drive, hands still elegantly clasped behind his back. Sir Integra pulled herself off her horse. Walter and the Geese, Timothy, followed her example.

Renfield cleared his throat. "Good evening, Sir Hellsing."

"Skip the pleasantries. Where is she, and where is your master?" Sir Hellsing asked calmly, resting her hand over the pocket she'd stuffed one of her guns in.

"I'm afraid I cannot be of great assistance in that endeavor, Sir Hellsing. Both my master and Miss Victoria are… indisposed at the moment, and as a good servant I will see to my master's wish that they not be disturbed." Renfield replied with equal composure, his neutral,empty mask never slipping for a moment.

His companion hadn't moved or bothered to say a word yet. His eyes were downcast, his peasant face bathed in shadow and hidden by a straw hat. Something silver glinted in his hand.

"You bastard." Sir Hellsing hissed as she whipped out one of her newly reloaded revolvers. It was just as she feared, and the nobleman could only pray that Seras hadn't yet been assaulted by the fiend.

Renfield only offered them a slight twinge of the lips.

* * *

 _Meanwhile_

* * *

"This shall not take long, Lady Seras. Please return to your chambers to rest." Renfield addressed her before shuffling Pip and the unfortunate farm boy out the door, shutting it loudly behind them. Seras stared at the door for a moment, still trying to absorb just what had happened in the last few hundred seconds. Since when did Renfield do his own dirty work?

She shook her head and clutched her hand to her heart, hoping that Pip and Renfield would be able to save the poor boy's father. She felt his pain, his despair, Edith's beautiful face flashed before her eyes for a moment, prompting more tears. But then, right there in the grand entrance hall, Seras stopped herself.

No. She was stronger than that.

She lightly dabbed at her tears with the pads of her gloved fingertips. So the Count hadn't been true, the Count had only wanted to use her for unseemly activity?

Fine.

Yes, that was right, fine.

She'd finally decided that she wasn't going to define her life by who she married or who decided they loved her. She had something bigger, something better to attain. She had a purpose, and a vital role to play. She had to assist in finding and saving her sister, wherever that took her. If the Count didn't play a role in her life, so what? That's right! So what?

She was Seras Victoria, soon to be police woman! She had been allowing her emotions to control her all too often lately! It was time to step up and take control of her future and get what she truly wanted, needed!

Of course, the Count's betrayal struck a deep wound that wouldn't heal slowly or easily, for both her heart and trust had been betrayed. Just thinking about their courtship, what she'd thought he felt, and the realization of what he actually meant made her sick to her stomach and brought tears to her eyes, though those were easier to manage this time around.

She hadn't realized how much she'd come to care for him until she discovered he cared very little for her. It was as if a huge part of her world had suddenly been ripped away, leaving her with broken chunks of glass and concrete that had once held them up.

But she couldn't give up. She'd lived without him before, and she'd live without him again. She was Seras Victoria, and she loved her sister and would do anything and everything in her power to find her. It was time to put this petty drama aside and focus on the more pressing, important issues. Seras was rested enough. They would leave tonight and reach London before daybreak, where Seras would begin her search anew.

Determination ignited anew, Seras turned on her heel and practically ran up one of the twin staircases in the entrance hall to the second floor, resolving to alert Nora of the change in plans once her bags were packed and failing to notice the lack of staff in the area. She wanted to delay waking up the ill servant from her much-needed rest for as long as possible. Seras headed straight for her room and shut the door behind her, locking it with her key with a satisfying click.

She had only just filled her first trunk half-way when there were three brisk, yet authoritative knocks on her door. Seras frowned, and wondered if that was Renfield come back to alert her that the rescue party had returned. She hoped that they'd been able to help that poor boy's father - she turned the key and then the knob - and she hoped that they hadn't run into any trouble with the wolf.

Seras pulled the door open only to reveal not Renfield, but his master.

She couldn't help but wince and took a step back in surprise, acutely feeling her humiliation rise once more. She bit her lip, and did her best to steel herself. Remember, Seras told herself, you are certainly better off without him. You deserve better. Do not show submission or cowardice to this man, for you certainly have neither trait to show.

So instead she calmly clasped her hands behind her back, straightened her posture, and met his hidden eyes with a cool, polite gaze. "How may I help you, My Lord?" She was still required to show the proper respect to her betters even in such an awkward situation, and Seras refused to lower her standards. She would _not_ let him get to her.

The Count took a step into the doorway as if trying to make his way into the room, but Seras didn't budge from her place and kept him from going any further. But he was far enough in to see the open drawers and her chests.

"And what are you doing with that, Police Girl?" He asked mildly, and for a moment Seras entertained the thought that he actually sounded worried. But, if he actually cared about her as a person and was worried about her or her feelings, he would've already apologized.

"I intend to leave this night, Count Dracul." She consciously gave her voice a cool undertone. As hard as the new realizations were, Seras had to keep reminding herself that she meant nothing to him. All he wanted was her body. It was a hard pill to swallow, but a necessary one.

The Count frowned, but had the decency to look moderately upset by the news. "And why the hell are you doing that?" But vulgarity, it seemed, was still not beneath him.

A fresh flush of anger dusted her cheeks, and she took an intentionally loud stamp of a step toward him, getting much too close to be proper. "Why am I leaving? You dare ask me why I leave the man who lures a lady who loves him away from where she's needed, simply to take advantage of her?" She hissed, her voice growing in volume and strain as she progressed. His betrayal was still too new, too fresh for her.

"Furthermore, I-"

Seras stopped midsentence, realizing her Freudian slip with cold shock. Her mind went blank before resorting to a jumbled panic, and she looked to the Count for any sign of reaction. For once, he seemed to be caught off guard. His face held an almost stupefied expression that she would've thought hilarious in _any_ other situation. Oh, God. And just when she'd thought this whole situation couldn't have gotten any worse!

Why did she have to confess her love for him now, of all times? Especially when she knew he didn't love her!

"I apologize for wasting your time, My Lord. I thank you greatly for your hospitality. My companions and I will soon cease to bother you." Seras sighed quietly, bitterly. She gently pushed the Count a few steps back and out of her doorway.

"I wish you a good night." She said with a small, sad smile and closed the door, locking it right behind her.

Well, that had gone both better and worse then she'd expected. Seras tried not to groan in case the Count was still standing outside her door to hear it, and made her way back to the stack of dresses and underclothes that still needed folded and packed. It was a bit of a pain to do without Nora to help her, but Seras had never been one to be totally dependent on servants anyway. She was quite capable of folding her own clothes, thank you very much, and wouldn't be so cruel as to wake a sick little old lady to help with something so petty.

She had always been somewhat of an enigma when it came to servants. On one hand, they were essential to helping run the Victoria household, but for some reason Seras had never been totally comfortable with commanding people who were her social inferiors. Sure, she understood and accepted the fact that they were separated by class, but that didn't do anything to make it feel any more right to-

"Police Girl."

Seras yelped at the sudden voice, jumping around with a silk petticoat still in her hand. The Count stood before her, hands clasped in front of him, with a look of deadly seriousness on his face. What in the world? How had he gotten in here! And couldn't he take no for an answer?

 _And how had he gotten in to her bedroom?_ She was sure she'd locked the door! Maybe he had a master key or…? Well, there was no "or." He couldn't have gotten in otherwise, right?

Right?

She gulped, a creeping feeling crawling down her back, and wished that the bed was not behind her so she could take a step back. She looked over his shoulder to see her bedroom door still shut and the glint of a key still in the lock where she'd left it. How had he gotten in without her hearing him? The door even had squeaky hinges!

"H-how did you get in here?" And hadn't she locked the door! Yes, Seras thought with a shiver, she had!

"The door was locked! How did you enter?" She forced her voice to take on a more authoritative tone despite her unease. This was good practice for her – if she wanted to be a police woman, she'd have to grow a backbone to stand up to other scary people like the Count.

"You will not leave. I will not allow it." The Count continued on as if she'd never spoken, and drew toward her at a leisurely pace. His expression hadn't changed, and his lips were drawn in a hard line. Never had she felt so ill at ease in his presence, so unsafe.

"You have no say in the matter!" Seras threw her petticoat to the ground and slowly backtracked toward nightstand at side of her bed. She had laid a letter opener and an unopened telegram from Father Anderson there, and she was starting to get desperate for some sort of leverage in what had suddenly become a bad situation. Never had she felt so afraid of the Count, or so threatened by anyone for that matter. Her heart beat wildly, and her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in as she grabbed the letter opener and spun around with her arms raised in a defensive pose. How quickly the Count had gone from someone that held her to someone she felt the need to fight off.

She screamed in surprise when she saw that the Count suddenly stood barely a foot away from her and didn't hesitate in screaming bloody murder when grabbed her hands hard enough to bruise. He fished the letter opener from her fingers and threw it down on the soft carpet below. She screamed even louder when he pushed her on the bed and climbed on top of her, her hands still in an iron hold and pushed to her bosom.

"W-what is this? How dare you! Stop this right now!" Seras was screaming, her voice cracking under the strain. "Get off me, you fiend! This isn't proper! Get off me! I told you that I am no whore! Get off, get off, _get off_!" The Count was polite enough not to straddle her waist and instead placed most of his weight on her legs, which she desperately tried to use to kick him off.

But it was no use. He was stronger than he appeared, and even that was an understatement seeing that he had an intimidating physique to begin with. Seras struggled and screamed and cried and cursed him while trying to kick and punch, but couldn't get anything over a wiggle or tremor in his grip. It was enough to drive her mad!

"What drives you? Why me? Was this ploy not too elaborate for rape? Why not take a street woman instead, it'd be more less trouble!" She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks and staining the silk bedspread below them. Oh God, he was going to take her innocence. Oh God, was there no way out of this? How foolish she was to have actually believed his feelings pure! She should have listened to Edith and Sir Integra!

The Count merely sneered, his expression one of undiluted anger – not directed at her, but at something in his thoughts. "I would never deign so low as to take an unwilling partner." His words held a sort of bitter hatred that managed to slightly pacify Seras. The look on his face… it made her believe him. She would not be hurt in that way by him. But, if he didn't want her for the unseemly reasons she had originally suspected…

The room was silent all for Seras' sniffles and muted cries of anger and frustration.

"What do you want with me?" She finally managed to ask, stiffening when the Count bent to bring their bodies to what seemed like mere centimeters apart. Seras found it hard to breathe, her eyes wide and absolutely terrified. How could she have been so stupid, so naïve?

"I will not lose you. I _refuse_ to lose you. You will be mine, you are mine, _forever_." He hissed into the shell of her ear, his warm breathe sending shivers down her spine.

She shook her head, using her head to bat him away at least a few inches. Oh, God, this man was insane. How had she ever strayed from thinking that? At their first meeting she had noticed there was something wrong with him. Why hadn't she listened to her instincts then?

Her mind cleared at the thought, garnering a sudden insight. Yes, her instincts…

She'd had enough of the self-blame. Yes, she had been stupid and naïve and should've heeded the warnings and the signs, but she was not to be held accountable for the Count's actions. He was the monster, the one who had set her up, he was the villain. Seras had been tricked, and she hadn't asked for this. She was the victim, and in no way could she be blamed for the Count's evil intents and actions. But even so, she still had to find a way out of the trap he had ensnared her in.

"Why me? What makes me so special? I am nothing, I barely even have a tolerable pedigree! I have no fortune, no dowry, no name to tempt you! I approach the status of an eccentric old maid, and am barely considered one of the gentry if even! Once my looks fade, I will be nothing worth pursuing! I am no prize! You'd be much better off without me!" She was trying to dissuade him now, trying to show him just how big of a mistake he was making.

Seras wasn't going to lie; his last comment had absolutely _freaked her out_. Forever was a long, long time. But the Count only shook his head, laughing dryly.

"Police Girl, even now you never cease to amuse me." He lifted his face to hang directly over hers, his long black hair tickling her cheeks. "You know not the rarity of such an occasion, the rarity of a _trustworthy_ being. An unconditionally _loving_ , unyieldingly _loyal_ and _good being_. Such a person has been all too sparse all my years – I refuse to let such a find go." He was being absolutely serious. Oh God. He meant every word he said. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. "Never again will I be alone."

"What are you?" Seras whispered wearily after a long, tense moment, biting back more tears of exhaustion, anger, and terror. She was so, so tired of crying.

And then, an absolutely amazing thing happened. In one swift movement the Count lifted his free hand and took his eyeglasses off for the first time in her presence. Seras' gaze followed the eyeglasses first, watching them be thrown haphazardly on to the other side of the bed, before gathering the nerve to look him dead in the eye. What she saw took her breath away.

Red.

His irises were a pure, painstakingly blood red that she had previously thought physically impossible. They reminded her of…

"The dream," She whispered, her own eyes wide, all thought processes stumped. Just like the dream!

The Count pulled back slightly, his lips drawn in a feral grin. Bright, gleaming white fangs stole the show and gleamed in the light. Seras gasped, at a total loss for words. When she'd asked what he "was," she hadn't meant for it to be taken as anything other than an insult! She hadn't actually expected him to _be_ something!

Sir Hellsing's omens and warnings rang clear in her mind. "You're… you are…" Seras stuttered. She didn't want to say it out loud, to make it real.

"I am what you shall become."

She made the mistake not to avoid his gaze, but to meet it full on. She finally was able to see him in all his beautiful glory without his eyeglasses. Truly he was a fallen angel, with his darker than black hair framing his perfectly sculpted features, his flawless magnolia skin managing to help find the beauty in his insidious eyes. Her voice caught in her throat, her mind blank and stupefied.

The Count was a vampire.

And then without out warning, she fell into slumber.

* * *

 **{A/N:}**

Thank you all so much for your continued support! I truly appreciate it! If you happen to have the time, don't be afraid to leave me a review! I absolutely love to hear what you all have to say!

We're very close to new material, finally!

Until next time,

Della


	11. XI

Disclaimer: I don't own _Hellsing_ Frau Herr, please believe me.

 **XI.**

As a rule of thumb, Sir Hellsing usually took care not to put herself in horribly dangerous or unmanageable situations.

That personal choice had been adopted sometime in secondary school, when she'd had to stand up to four bullies who'd irritated her to no end. Though it was true that the Hellsing family was noble, respected and privileged, it was also haunted by a dark, unnamed stigma that followed its heirs like the plague. No one really knew exactly _why_ the Hellsing name was synonymous with "bad…" they just knew that it was, and that was enough for them.

Integra, of course, had known of the ominous family mantle very well by the tender age of fourteen. She'd barely been able to stand sitting through those tedious finishing school classes and talking to her oblivious peers before she'd been placed on a "Mission from God," and trying to do so after was close to torture. She couldn't have just left the school either, because that would've roused suspicion and every precaution had to be taken to protect her organization's secrecy. It was a burden she had to bear, albeit sourly.

It took all her strength not to fall asleep on her feet during ballroom dancing lessons, and it took all her might not to verbally attack the first girl to complain about "how tired she was" after being kept awake by a baby or some other bullshit. It was so irritating – really, it was. Integra had become all too used to thirty-six hour nights on the weekends, much to Walter's discontent.

After a particularly upsetting one of those nights, Integra had the misfortune of mouthing off to some spoiled nobleman's daughter who obviously _hadn't_ seen a vampire beheaded before. That nobleman's daughter hadn't taken kindly to the comment about her being "bone enough"* not to have to worry about the large portion sizes the servants presented her at lunch break, and of course she managed to get her little clique to gang up on Integra in the schoolyard and push her in the mud.

In the end it'd actually worked out well because the school mistress said Integra couldn't "just walk around like _that,"_ and was sent home where she finally got a bit of sleep. While Integra blamed that daughter, she also found she blamed herself. There had always been an unspoken prejudice against her simply because of her namesake, but withdrawing into books and the tactical manuals she'd snuck in instead of socializing hadn't gained her any allies.

At the time, Integra also hadn't known how to effectively manage people yet, so it had been hard for her to make any friends at all. Hellsing had effectively turned her in to a scathing, paranoid mess of a teenager during that year. In the possible scenario of harassment, she should've realized that there wouldn't have been anyone to turn to. She'd dug herself into a hole, and she'd do better to learn from it for next time.

Integra vaguely wondered if she'd dug herself into a hole again.

"You bastard." She hissed after Renfield's little confession.

Sir Integra had hoped they'd be able to work the now foreseeable fight with thought and strategy, but now it seemed like the only thing they had time for was to rush in gung-ho. But that tactic screamed against her very being, and she had no idea of Renfield and his partner's capabilities. It would be such a stupid, stupid move that would probably end up doing more harm than good. Even judging from a glance out of the corner of her eye, Sir Integra could tell Walter had also come to the conclusion and liked it no better.

But what choice did they have? The longer they stayed out here with these two, the more alone time the Count had with Seras. Sir Integra bit her tongue. Walter was knew the battle formations by heart, and Timothy was supposed to have had his memorized by now. There was a way to make such a strategy work, but only if timed perfectly.

She waited for Renfield or the vagabond to say anything, do anything, and tried not to be slightly off-put when they failed to do either. They were trying to get the edge on her, Sir Integra told herself.

"And just how do you benefit from this arrangement, prey tell?" Beside her, Walter tensed ever so slightly.

She held Renfield's gaze even though his eyes were still hooded by shadow, so she believed he hadn't picked up on the subtle nuance. But then she couldn't see the vagabond or Timothy, so there was a definite possibility that their ploy was already anticipated or that Timothy had given them away.

"One does not argue with one's master." Renfield stepped into the moonlight, his lips twisted into a crazed smile. Sir Integra narrowed her eyes and whipped out her gun, the rustle of fabric from behind telling her that Timothy had done the same. Renfield's eyes were an unnatural mix of fiery copper and amber, the eyes of an upper third-tier vampire.

"The Count is your Master?" Sir Hellsing was skeptical, but cautious. The Count was the patriarch, the head of the elite of the first-tier vampire. His Child should've inherited his red eyes, the very symbol of vampiric royalty.

"No, of course not. His Majesty would never condescend to turn one so undeserving as my Childe, but all vampires serve under him." The vagabond finally spoke. His voice was smooth and quiet, much too seductive for his scruffy farmer's outfit and lack of shoes. But when the boy looked up, his eyes copper eyes glinted in a stray glimmer of moonlight. "His Majesty would never turn one so beneath him "

Sir Hellsing noted that for whatever reason, the vagabond didn't seem to like Renfield. That could possibly prove to be to their advantage.

"But Miss Victoria is?" Walter was quick to ask once the vagabond was finished. The vampire only smiled cruelly, his eyes crinkling.

"That would be Lady Victoria to you – though, human scum such as yourself would never be permitted to address Her Majesty so informally. In fact," The vampire licked his lips, "human scum like yourself shouldn't be addressing vampires so casually at all. You should be begging, sobbing for mercy." Beside him, Renfield's face was still impassive.

"And you would actually offer mercy?" Sir Hellsing dead-panned.

"Of course not." His smile widened, fangs gleaming, as he took a step forward.

And then it began.

Integra was quick to urge her horse into a rapid gallop on to the side yard next to the drive as shots were fired at both the vampires and the dusty road, serving as a diversion and camouflage. Of course, that was only assuming that the thick cloud of dust actually impaired their vision and sense of smell, but since they were third-tier vampire at best Sir Integra felt remotely confident.

Their hearing, however, remained very much still intact- but that was why they had Walter. She didn't dare turn to look at anything other than the looming stairway in front of her for fear of losing her concentration, but even from a distance the _whizz_ and _whisp_ of Walter's deadly threads were unmistakable. Timothy was still shooting, but judging from the time lapsing in between each shot they were more calculated and plotted. The "Prey Tell" strategy was working well, just as she'd expected it to.

What Sir Integra hadn't counted on was finding an absolutely desolate mansion. She cursed herself upon hastily coaxing her steed up the front step, and somehow through the front door. That in itself had been a miracle, because she wasn't about to leave her only source of transportation outside with a bunch of vampires on the defense.

Sir Integra had expected some sort of angry servant or two to reprimand her, to demand just _what_ she thought she was doing, and threaten report her to their terrifying master. But her mount's hooves clicked on the sparkling white marble floor and echoed in the cathedral ceilinged main hall. There were lamps and candles lit in all the right places, but no one to own up for them. A chill akin to the feeling she had gotten upon approaching the estate flittered down her spine.

While it meant that there would be no accidental deaths when the Count was finally confronted, it also served as a terribly foreboding omen. Integra rode further in to the household, entering what seemed to be the center sitting room, complete with three wall-length windows showcasing the moonlit moorland behind the estate. Either there had been very few servants to begin with and that Renfield had taken care of most household duties, or her job had just become severely more complicated…

A sudden glint of light on the moors caught her attention, and abruptly pulled her out of her thoughts. She urged the horse toward the windows, and tried to see if she could catch the spark again-

There!

In the darkness, something moved along at quick pace, and Integra quickly recognized it to be a black stagecoach pulled by a lone stallion on a road she hadn't realized to be there. The decorative silver paneling on the doors caught and reflected the moonlight, prompting Integra to for once celebrate the Count's taste for dramatic flair.

She grit her teeth and cursed under her breath and she hurried her steed to maneuver through far too-complicated halls and irritatingly narrow doorframes until finally managing to break out into the back garden through the servants' kitchen back entrance. Thank God she'd taken the time to look over the blueprints she'd illegally obtained during one of the riding breaks from London to West Country.

While she knew the coach could have easily been Pip's escort, she highly doubted the fact. The Geese wouldn't have taken a route they weren't familiar with in such unknown territory, even if it meant skirting around Baskerville's woods for a few extra miles to make it back to the main road. As she rode closer to the direction she'd spotted the stagecoach lurch toward, Sir Integra realized the "road" was little more than a glorified hunting trail that managed to subdue the bracken and heather that otherwise grew high enough to scratch against her legs as they raced forward at a frantic gallop.

It took them a good mile away from the estate and bathed them in darkness, with nothing but the night sky as a guide, and took a good twenty minutes before Integra was able to make out the carriage in the darkness. She leaned forward in her saddle, eyes narrowed and fingers digging in to her leather reigns and whip.

Once again, it seemed as though she hadn't thought this through properly. What if the Count was in the stagecoach with Seras? What then, exactly? While Sir Integra knew she was strong and resourceful, she also knew she couldn't expect to hold a candle against a territorial king vampire alone and with dwindling ammunition. And what if Seras wasn't in the stagecoach at all? What if the stagecoach was empty, Seras and the Count were still alone together in the mansion, Walter and Timothy were being defeated and-?

No.

Sir Integra shook her head. She had made her choice, and she was going to stand by it. It was too late to turn back. She could only hope her instincts proved correct – incessant worrying wasn't going to help anyone at this point, especially her.

Sir Integra gave her steed another kick, feeling as though she could feel each separate surge of adrenaline pumped through her veins as they slowly, but surely approached the stagecoach. As they drew closer, Sir Integra could plainly see that the horse pulling the coach hadn't been saddled or reigned properly and was slowed down greatly because of it. The driver was hidden to her for now, but it was plain to see that the most directing being done was a light flick of the whip here or there.

They began to catch up with the stagecoach now – Sir Integra noticed the curtains were drawn in the windows – and finally managed to overtake it when the coach's horse inadvertently stumbled over a large rock in the middle of the path. But when she finally reached the driver's seat, much to her horses' aggravation she quickly jerked away off the path – still careful not to lose pace with the carriage – and out of grasp of the ghoul who had been tasked with directing the carriage.

Usually ghouls were unable to follow specific commands, but if they were ghouls of the Count different rules applied. This particular ghoul, still dressed in a cotton older lady's nightdress and bonnet, faced Integra with white unseeing eyes and an outstretched grey hand clawing in her direction while still keeping a hand on the reigns.

Sir Integra supposed that she had been ordered to take the carriage without pause or interruption by the Count, and was forced to see his order out to absolution. Perhaps she had been right after all. Making her decision, Sir Integra pulled out her pistol from one of the side pockets of her great coat, took aim, fired, and shot the ghoul point-blank in one fluid motion.

The ghoul was no match for the Vatican's second generation of blessed silver bullets and began to shrivel and scatter to dust several moments after the bullet made impact, the reigns falling out of her hands. The stallion, startled by the sudden noise, bucked and gave the carriage a good kick with its hindquarters before galloping away further down the path into the night. The carriage teetered at the sudden blow and tipped slightly, the new and sudden angle forcing the farther side open and allowing something tall and heavy to slip out with a "thunk."

Sir Integra allowed her own startled mount a little leeway to rush forward at the blast before turning it around back toward the carriage, her pistol never leaving her hand for a second. She halted a good twenty feet away, her breath caught in her throat at the sight that awaited her. Her grip on the gun tightened, and she swiftly leapt off her mount.

The object that had slid out of the carriage door was a coffin.

A dark, almost black oak polished to the point of almost being perfectly reflective was set with a simple silver cross on the top door. It leaned right-side up against the forced-open door of the carriage, its meaning cruelly mocking her. But she forced down the bile rising in the back of the throat for another moment. Why would the Count ever allow his new progeny out of his sight so soon after her turning?

She glared at the coffin for a good few moments, as if it possibly had the ability to tell her what she needed to know but refused to do so with glee, before she tightened her grip on her gun and made toward it.

If her instincts were correct (and they always were,) an uncorrupted Seras would be found and the first objective of their mission would be complete. This would, of course, raise the rather worrisome questions of why the Count had sent Seras alone on the moors to begin with and how this reflected his plans. But, if Sir Integra opened the lid of the coffin and a newly turned fledging leapt out to meet her…

Well, she already had too many people's blood on her hands. She tried to tell herself that another gallon wasn't going to make that much of a difference.

She really, really tried to let herself believe that.

Sir Integra stood a mere two feet away from the base of the coffin now, close enough to garner a look at her reflection. She instinctively looked at the landscape over her shoulder instead of her own image, only barely relaxing when she saw nothing but her steed and empty moorland behind her. The night had become oppressively quiet, unnervingly still. It was summer – crickets and insects and night crawlers should've been making their presence known. But these animals were intelligent, and even seemed to know better than to show their faces tonight.

The night went on entirely undisrupted. They didn't have all the time in the world.

If Seras had been turned, she would be hungry. Sir Integra would barely have enough time to leap out of her path and defend herself, but even though doing so put her at a risk she couldn't just open the lid and start shooting in case Seras hadn't-

She gasped, not in shock at the revelation but in rage and loathing.

Sir Integra leapt forward in a single stride and put all her strength in prying off the all too heavy lid, taking care to swiftly run backwards once it had been pulled ajar enough to lose balance and fall off by itself. Her eyes widened slightly, but quickly narrowed.

Seras Victoria lay perfectly still in the coffin, seemingly asleep and resting peacefully on pale pink silk cushions and pillows. Her lilac evening gown was thoughtfully arranged and her arms had been crossed over her chest, as was tradition. Her golden hair was fluffed, her gloves still on. Sir Integra stood there for a long moment, gun extended in front of her, unable to fully absorb the sheer absurdity and horror of the situation.

She'd witnessed grotesque, macabre scenes that would've put lesser men in asylum. She'd seen death brought in almost every form, tortured without mercy, and ordered executions all in the name of God. But this – whether it was the surprise, the gloves, the almost _gentleness_ of it all– struck her deeply. To try to spirit away an innocent, locked in a coffin…

It added volumes to the sheer depth of his obsession.

But, perhaps it'd been done to mock her? The idea was an absurdly comforting thought. But why would he have let Seras get away to begin with? The vampire wasn't stupid by any means, and had only rarely been reported of resorting to desperation. Why would he have endangered her? But was Seras actually…?

But she, of all people, didn't have the time for denial.

With her firearm still raised, Sir Integra dug in to her pocket with her other hand and fished out an engraved gold pocketknife – a family heirloom, Walter had said, – and….

Seras suddenly began to cough violently, her blue eyes opening bug-eyed and her mouth stretching as tongue lolling to take in more oxygen. Her breathes came in rushed, haggard gasps. Sir Hellsing stuffed her pocketknife and gun back into her greatcoat pocket as she jogged to the newly reawakened girl.

She stopped two feet from the coffin, lips drawn in a hard line.

By this time, Seras hadn't stopped coughing. She ripped at the buttons of her neckline, desperate to get as much air in as possible. She couldn't think, and the world slowly spun as she leaned against the coffin and sunk to her feet, legs shaky and unable to hold her up any longer. Good God, what'd happened? Where was she, why was she-

"No, no," Sir Hellsing stood over her, and reached out to grab Seras under the armpits to try to pull her back up on her feet. She sounded angry. "You must stand. Air is more efficiently circulated if the diaphragm isn't restricted."

But once Seras was up again and Sir Hellsing cautiously let go, Seras sputtered for a moment and then tumbled to the ground on all fours. This time, Sir Hellsing didn't attempt to pull her back up. It seemed that she'd finally realized how useless it would've been.

Seras' breathing came no slower, though it now took on deeper quality, and she could still hear blood pumping in her ears before she began to vomit. Sir Hellsing didn't say anything, didn't offer any condolences, and instead walked to the side of the coffin and examined it. Seras was grateful for the shift of attention; it was absolutely humiliating to be seen in such a state.

After a while the world stopped spinning, the parasympathetic nervous system kicked in, and Seras finally felt like she was capable of coherent, valid questions. Questions like: Why the hell was I in a coffin? Didn't I almost suffocate? Was someone trying to kill me? Why am I in the middle of the moors at night? Why are you here? Why the hell did you have to let me out of a coffin in the middle of the moors at night? Seras thought them all to be very reasonable, valid questions and unabashedly voiced them.

Sir Hellsing paused from her examination of the coffin's inner side, looking up at Seras. In that moment, it seemed that the heiress had aged ten years since the last time she'd seen her, her complexion pallid, her hair less shiny, her eyes baggy and bloodshot. For the first time Seras noticed how… unorganized Sir Hellsing looked. Her greatcoat hung off one shoulder, and her platinum hair was unbound and windswept and wild.

"I do not believe he meant you harm, for I believe he does not wish you to die yet." Sir Hellsing 's tone was clipped, almost tired if Seras hadn't known better. Her eyes widened, and she would've made a bigger deal about the accusation if she hadn't felt so horribly ill and Sir Hellsing hadn't looked so horribly serious.

"Yet?" Seras croaked. Her throat was raspy and her breath tasted like pennies.

"Yet." Sir Hellsing intoned, knocking her index finger on the wooden outer frame of the coffin. There was no arguing that the Count was responsible for this excursion.

"Holes were drilled into the sides in an attempt to maintain airflow, however," She shook her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile, "sparsely one-half barely made it through the padding. It was a shabby, hurried job that could've possibly cost you your life had I not caught your chaise in time." Her fist clutched the lip of the coffin, her clipped nails digging into the silk.

Seras pushed herself to sit up on her knees, though still resting some weight on her hands beneath her. So, the Count had put her in a coffin and put the coffin in a carriage and… the events of a few hours ago rushed back and gave her another case of vertigo at the revelations.

The Count was a vampire, and had said he would make her like him. The Count was a vampire. Vampires existed. Vampires were real. What did that mean? What else was hiding in the woods, waiting to be found? It was all too much to take in. Her breathing and heart rate picked up again.

"You were right…" Seras said quietly after a long moment, clutching her fists in her lap, shoulders shaking. Her entire body was quivering. But why was Sir Hellsing out here herself? She wouldn't have just shown up for _Seras_ , would she have? Seras knew she wasn't _that_ important.

"Why are you here?" It was the cover for the real question, one Seras didn't have the strength to put forward: what happened to make you come here?

Sir Hellsing regarded her for a lengthy moment. She weighed her options. So much had happened this night alone that it seemed cruel to tell her of her parents' gruesome fates. But if Sir Hellsing didn't tell her, how else was she going to find out? The Force, the post, through rumors, or coming home to an empty house? And while Sir Hellsing didn't intend to be bested by that monster, if he managed to get to Seras he was certainly going to hide that little factoid from her as long as he could.

Which begged the question of why he'd killed her family to begin with. An extremely possessive obsession was the most probable cause, but if he intended to turn her to spend eternity with him, it wouldn't due for her to eternally hate him. His case studies and past histories never described him to be so tactless, so sloppy. Sir Integra snapped out of her reverie a pause too long.

Seras sat staring up at her, mouth agape, tears pooling and threatening to spill. Sir Integra cursed herself. She hated to admit it, but this entire Victoria case had shaken her more than any other she'd had before. Sir Integra bit her tongue and made her way to the girl, suddenly seeming so much smaller and hopeless than she had before. She crouched down in front of her, and held both Seras' hands in her own.

The tears began to fall freely, quickly.

"You have my absolute, most sincere condolences." She began, fighting back a cringe when Seras heaved a sob. "Your household was… attacked by a rogue vampire." Was there any way to put this gently? Any way at all? "There… were no survivors. I am deeply, deeply sorry." Sir Integra lowered her head, for the first time unable to meet someone else's gaze.

It had been her fault, her responsibility, and she'd _failed them_. At the site, she had predominantly felt anger toward the Count… but now with Seras sitting in front of her, a face of the tragedy, an unbearable wall of anguish fell on her.

Seras fell back on her bottom, holding on to Sir Hellsing's hands like a lifeline. When she'd first offered condolences, she'd assumed Sir Hellsing had been speaking of Edith's death, not… this. Good God, her family…. Her family was… She couldn't say it, couldn't even think it even though she was shuddering with uncontrolled sobs. Her body had more readily accepted the truth than her mind.

No, no, no no, no, _ **no!**_

They couldn't be dead! They couldn't be gone! They just couldn't be! She'd only just seen them, spoken to them only several days prior! How could anyone die so quickly? A saner, more rational part of her chastised her for such a stupid thought at a time like this. But she didn't care. She didn't care about anything; all she wanted was for her mother to criticize her posture, for her father to show her another police manual, for Edith to tease her, for all them to sit down to dinner together again…

Oh, _God_.

So she sat there in the prickly bracken and dusty road underneath her, sobbing to the night and holding on to Sir Hellsing's hands like a baby. She couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. She felt like she was drowning in grief and a terrible part of her actually _liked it_.

 _Snap_

Sir Integra yanked her hands from Seras' grasp and pushed the girl behind her in one fluid movement before rising with her revolver extended. The night was no longer the backdrop, but an ominous presence. Sir Integra was suddenly too aware of how exposed they were on the moors on this little road alone, away from the others. She let her arm fall when she saw it was nothing more than her ride adventuring too far off the path, but let it serve as a stark reminder that they couldn't expect to be alone for very long.

Sir Integra turned to look down at Seras, who thankfully still wasn't lying in the dirt where she'd left her. It seemed that her spirit hadn't been entirely broken after all. Her expression – if anything – was actually thoughtful. Sir Integra didn't pocket the handgun, but extended a hand to help Seras up.

"We are no longer safe here. We are not safe in any place for too long a time." Sir Hellsing explained once Seras was on her feet again, shivering in the cool night air. "We must trek to the town where my men were sent and rely on them to serve as our reinforcements." Sir Hellsing gave the horse a sideways glance before shaking her head and grabbing Seras' elbow, pulling her off the road and into the briar and heather where the horse could not go.

"Reinforcements?" Seras questioned, her voice dull but retaining a certain curious spark. Good, that was good.

"Yes, Miss Victoria. I lament to tell you that I have not portrayed your situation in its entirely in order to maintain your ignorance, for fear of him acting early had you accused him of anything." Sir Hellsing explained, her voice lowering as she looked up at the sky, searching for the North Star.

"I am head of the Hellsing Organization, a vampire extinguisher chartered by a very high-ranking nobleman. Our foremost responsibility is to protect the citizenry and prevent future attacks – we have as much information about the vampires as the smugglers did opium." They stopped, turned, and headed east away from the road. Seras didn't say anything.

"You've managed to capture the attention of the so-called king of their kind." Sir Hellsing grimaced, before biting her tongue and reminding herself just what this girl was going through at the moment. "He goes by many names, but my grandfather christened him Alucard."

"Alucard…" Seras repeated as she stumbled over a stray rock.

" _Don_ ' _t,_ " Sir Hellsing bit out before stopping herself, "speak his name so loudly or so frequently. Speak of the devil and he shall appear." She intoned without humor. Seras didn't comment.

They travelled in silence for another good forty minutes by Sir Hellsing's lead, until Seras finally spoke:

"Sir Hellsing… do you believe this… _king_ to be responsible for…?" the question was hard to ask without her voice cracking and losing her composure. For the past twenty minutes she had been silently crying, scared out of her mind but not wanting to slow them down and not wanting to die.

Sir Hellsing didn't look at her again. "Yes. Personally, I believe him to be." Seras wanted to scream and cry and run away all at the same- "However, logically it wouldn't be profitable for him to do so. By doing so he forfeits your good graces, something I can only assume he desperately wants to maintain."

Seras bit her lip hard, wincing when it became too great for her to continue doing so. "Then… then _who? Why?_ Why would anyone do such a thing?! They were innocents, they had no idea! They didn't deserve any of this!" Her voice, broken as it was, was gradually rising in volume and octaves. Sir Hellsing frowned, grabbed the girl's shoulder, and gave it a good shake.

"I do not know yet." She said lowly, meeting Seras' tearful gaze with her own impassive stare. "I know not the mind frames or plans of sociopaths and murderers. However," she gaze Seras' shoulder another shake, "you must control yourself – at least for the moment – for both our sakes. Our position cannot be compromised, we must get to reinforcements because we will **not** be able to hold them off by ourselves." Her voice was cold, already detached.

"Do whatever you must, think whatever you must, to pacify yourself for now. Afterward you may do whatever you please, but you **must** be stronger a little while. You must."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Believe it or not, in the nineteenth century it was "in" to have a little bit of a plump, slightly round figure because it hinted that you were rich enough to buy a lot of food. On the other hand being skinny – like a starving peasant – wasn't very attractive because it symbolized a lower social standing.

Thank you for all the kind words and promises!

Until next time,

Della


	12. XII

Disclaimer: Even though I've been gone for… awhile, I still don't have anything to do with _Hellsing_ lol

 **XII.**

They continued to travel east, toward what Sir Hellsing had said was a port town that she'd sent her troops to. The fact that an actual army had been sent to aid in her "rescue" had done little to pacify Seras, but Sir Hellsing had either failed to notice or hadn't cared enough to. But then, the shadows stemmed from nowhere.

The darkness had seemed to increase as they made their way forward, and Sir Hellsing was able to make out dark figures farther out on the moors. She didn't have to guess too hard to recognize who it possible could be.

The oblong, wiry trees that dotted the moors were far away, and the night gave no favors. No, the shadows flowed from Count Alucard's arm like a seamless silk slip and flickered hungrily in the air, on the ground, and around its victims. The Count's hair was unbound and blended with them. The insidious glow of his bright red eyes contrasted with the black night air.

Sir Integra stopped dead, grabbing Seras' wrist in a fierce grip. Seras didn't complain when she motioned for them to lie on their stomachs on the prickly bracken in a sorry attempt to hide themselves, lest the monster glance their way. But they were thankfully still a good enough ways away to be disregarded, and were hidden by the shadow of the moon.

Sir Integra's pistol pulled down on her hand like a dead weight, and her body itched to run forth, pull the trigger, blow in the monster's head, and _finally_ rid the world of this monstrosity…

… as if _that_ would've been enough to finish him off.

But she inherently knew such thoughts and impulses to be foolish. To do so would put Walter in even graver danger and the monster, with his violent, jerky movements and bright eyes, looked to be in a sort of passionate rage. The night itself seemed to darken in response to it.

The Queen's Knight could only make out shapes and faces, and although she could not hear the monster's words she was able to see that he spoke to his captives. The three men dangled in midair, held aloft by the same constricting black shadow that fanned from the bindings around their chests to flare under their feet like onyx fire.

Perhaps it _was_ fire. But just what had set the monster over the edge? Had he discovered his beloved to be spirited away, or was there something worse? Well, whatever the reason, it had been enough to put the monster into an inconsolable frenzy.

It took a moment, but she soon recognized the other two men to be his underlings, Renfield and his vagrant master. She wondered what had happened to Timothy. Suddenly all three were harshly slammed to the ground and momentarily engulfed by the flaming darkness, entirely hidden from view. Her muscles tensed. It took all her years of the bitter emotional disciplinary training not to leap up and betray their position to help Walter.

There were risks in this profession, risks she and Walter were all too aware of… but that rational made it none the easier. On the contrary, sometimes such trains of thought made it all the harder. Walter had always tried his best to look after and help her, even when she acted like the insufferable brat she had been bred to be. It would be despicable if she did not condescend to do the same for him.

However…

She shot a moment's glance at Seras from the corner of her eye.

"W-was… was that _Walter_?" Seras whispered in unmeasured, shaky breaths.

"Yes." Her tone was clipped, controlled. Sir Integra spared her another glance from the corner of her eye. The girl was shaking.

Sir Integra narrowed her eyes. This was no time for emotion. Walter was a veteran who had seen and annihilated his fair share of the undead. Seras, on the other hand, had only just discovered that vampires existed an hour ago… and that the most powerful had decided to claim her. The girl could barely keep from dry sobbing so as not to give away their position, let alone be able put herself in the frame of mind to kill a homicidal vampire who could behead them with a flick of the wrist. But then again, Sir Integra grimly noted, he wouldn't target _Seras_ , would he?

Nevermind that, Seras needed her protection more than Walter did. At the very least Walter had experience in these sorts of situations, and as long as he-

"Stop it! Stop now, I beg of you!"

Dear God.

Sir Integra jolted up a split second too late to pull the girl back down to the ground after Seras stood and started _screaming at the top of her lungs_. She sucked in a curse and gritted her teeth, and slowly looked back at the monster's fire. It had been put out.

He stood alone on the horizon, three ash covered figures kneeling on the ground before him. For a long, silent moment they stood staring at each other, he at them and Sir Hellsing and Seras back at him. The night had momentarily reverted back to its eerie stillness, and managed to maintain it even when the monster held up a gloved hand and audaciously _waved_ for them to join him. Sir Hellsing would've been more annoyed if she hadn't been feverishly combing through the back-up plans she'd memorized over the years, but so far she was coming up with a blank. She supposed that was probably normal when fighting a monster descent from the bowels of Hell itself, but she also found her new charge to be quite the irritation.

Seras Victoria wasn't making things easier. The girl actually started off toward the vampire at his request, like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Where are you going?" Sir Hellsing spoke in a forced, measured tone when she caught Seras' wrist. Her grip tightened to a bruising hold when she tried to pull away. Did the vampire have powers of hypnosis?

"I am finished with the death and destruction this mess has caused! That I am the catalyst of!" Seras was vehement, her eyes filling with tears threatening to fall.

"I refuse to let another suffer on my behalf, whether it be Walter, Pip, or even the Queen! I simply cannot, will not let this go further!" She fully believed in her own argument.

If she gave herself freely to the Count, he'd have no more reason to hurt anyone. A small, nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that nothing was ever so simple, but in the heat of the moment she pushed it down and tried to yank her wrist out of Sir Hellsing's grip.

"And to what end will playing the martyr bring you? _To the men he's already murdered on your behalf_?" Sir Hellsing snapped, put out by the statement. She'd already wasted so many of her men's lives to save this girl, and then this _arrogant,_ flighty girl simply decides to throw in the towel and let their sacrifices be in vain? It struck a deep nerve.

"I refuse to stand by and watch the Count murder another _on my behalf_!" Seras practically screeched as she turned on her heel to face Sir Integra. She grabbed the other woman's hand and pulled, and the slippery silk sleeve of her evening dress giving her just enough leverage to free herself before breaking into a sprint.

"Goddamnit," Sir Hellsing hissed before taking off after the stupid, stupid girl.

Her plans were useless now, and she'd have to depend on her own quick wit to save them. They were miles away from any possible reinforcements and the beast had been made aware of their presence and position. It would be useless to run or fight now – he would easily be able to overtake them in any situation.

The night had been shocked in to silence by the Count, and the dry bracken crunched beneath their feet. Sir Hellsing clutched her gun a little harder as they approached the Count and his captives. Seras ran about ten feet in front of her, and stopped when she approached the edge of the moonlight. Sir Integra stopped a few steps behind her, observing the situation. Her eyes narrowed upon seeing Walter's battered form splayed out on the ground like rejected chophouse bits, but still schooled her features to an impassive calm. To do so made her less susceptible to emotional appeals and attacks.

Seras, on the other hand…

Sir Hellsing laid a hand on the girl's shivering shoulder, primly deciding to ignore the hiss that was sent to her from not even thirty feet away. Consciously avoiding looking at the vampire, Sir Hellsing roughly pulled and forced Seras to stumble back a few steps to stand next to her. The air was surprisingly quiet, until-

"Do _ **not**_ touch her."

And suddenly he was upon them, right in front of them and close enough for Sir Hellsing to smell the iron and gunmetal that clung to his clothes, to hear the quiet hiss of his breath. She slowly took her eyes off Walter to meet his fiery gaze and the challenge it bore. Her expression was stripped bare of any telltale emotion or stress.

"I would never harm Seras Victoria." Her voice was calm, perhaps a tad too calm. She felt Seras stiffen in her grasp. "Nay, not in the ways you did her family." In hindsight, it was never a good idea to provoke a bloodthirsty vampire, but Sir Hellsing had never been one to pass up an opportunity. The beast's eyes _burned_.

"One should not speak of things one does not understand, scum." A deep, guttural growl rose from his chest as he took a large step toward them, and then another and another. The black flames sprung up around his feet like stray weeds, small and slithering. Sir Hellsing held her gun out in front of them and the beast stopped for a moment to stare at it. Sir Hellsing's eyes narrowed, and her heart beat quick and deep in her throat despite herself.

But the Count only smiled that terrible, sickening smile. It made his eyes crinkle and didn't force any dimples, but it did showcase a smile that had previously lacked the sinister canines showed off now. Seras audibly gulped, and her heart stopped when his grin expanded. His eyes took on a terrifying glimmer as he took another step forward, holding out his hand toward the gun as if issuing a challenge.

"No! Stop it!" Her voice hadn't been as loud as before, but it had apparently been loud enough to wrench the Count out of his homicidal premonitions. He turned to look at her sharply, his hand still outstretched but the smile pulled clean off his lips. Seras could practically feel the Count's gaze roaming over her, searching her. Beside her Sir Integra cursed, but chose not to make a move to regain the Count's attention in lieu of battle strategy.

Her eyes darted from the Count to Integra to Walter. The breath caught in her throat, and although she knew that she should've already looked away Seras just couldn't help it. The poor, elderly man had been forced into a kneeling position and was blanketed from the waist down in inky black shadow. His head limply drooped over his chest, and his shoulders sagged with the weight of the world. And was that… Renfieldheld captive next to him? _And the farm boy?_

Good God, how many more lives would be jeopardized by the Count because of her? First Edith, then her family, and now harmless bystanders?

How many others had to die?

Seras clutched her fisted hand to her heart, forcing herself break her stare and turn back to the Count.

She knew it wasn't her fault, but she also knew that he wouldn't stop hurting others if he didn't get what he wanted. Her own family had been… She didn't want anyone else to have her lot. She couldn't live with the knowledge that her selfishness had cost someone else their life, even if that meant she'd lose her own in return.

She refused to look the Count in the eye. Instead she focused on the crackling black flames that surrounded his feet and – when had Baskerville gotten here? The dog seemed to smile up at her as it sat patiently next to its master, red eyes reflected black by the small blaze. Sir Integra pulled out a second pistol.

She intuitively knew there was only one way to make him stop. But to tame the beast was to give in to him… he, the very man whom Sir Integra had so vehemently claimed to be behind her sister's disappearance and her family's deaths. Could she really do that? Could she really betray her family by giving in to their murderer?

But perhaps he hadn't been behind it… perhaps Sir Integra had missed something? Or maybe she was simply stuck in denial.

"I…" Seras tried to speak once the Count's gaze had become too heavy to bear, even though she had no idea what she wanted to say.

Seras was a ball of horribly conflicting emotions: anger, sadness, fear, horror, and trepidation ate away at her heart and tangled her stomach into knots. Her hands were cold and clammy. She didn't want to be anywhere near him after such a nightmare of a night, but she couldn't very well watch three other people suffer because of it. And – what if he _was_ responsible for Edith and the rest of her family? There was always reasonable doubt, yes, but Good Lord, _what then_?

However – she had to continuously remind herself, always remind herself – her emotions could always be sorted through and tended to later. Human lives hung in the balance.

"I… You must release them… please." Seras finally managed to muster, looking to meet the Count's burning gaze. A drop of cold sweat slithered down her lower back, and her instincts absolutely _begged_ her to take off running in the opposite direction. What in God's name was she thinking, trying to reckon with a vampire?

The Count cocked his head, his lips drawn into a thin line that bordered on a smile. "I am afraid I cannot acquiesce your wishes, Police Girl." His voice was calmer, smoother. Seras would've thought him to have relaxed if it weren't for that insidious gleam in his eye.

"May I ask why?" Seras held her hand tightly to her chest like a crutch. It was easier to keep from shaking if she held on to something. Her mother would've been proud to see her daughter keep to her manners. Their familiarity was a nice coping mechanism.

His smile flickered for a second but was quickly recovered. It wasn't missed by Seras or Sir Integra. "Why Police Girl, they're traitors – dogs. Less than dogs, actually! They're scum, vermin, _garbage_!" The flames suddenly surrounded the three again, but did not venture out the moonlit circle the Count and prisoners stood in. His eyes were dark and predatory.

Seras stared, her mouth dry. "And… what have they done to betray you so deeply?" She dug her grave deeper.

He stared at her for a long moment. His smile all but vanished and a deep frown sat in its place. He took a step back – her shoulders relaxed slightly – and threw his arm in a grand sweep over the three men. "They have gone against my wishes, and have by doing so put all I have worked for in jeopardy." The Count answered cryptically, glaring at them and then back at her.

"W-Walter is innocent, I'm certain." Seras whispered, stealing a glance at the pitiful old man. He didn't deserve to be out here on the cold moor, afraid for his life... all because of her. It wasn't right, it wasn't just.

The Count raised an eyebrow. "I do not remember you being granted the right of divine judgment, Police Girl. The butler is at fault as much as my own servants."

Seras' eyes widened. " Your… servants?" Her gaze flickered to the farmhand, whose back was straight as a board even while consumed by shadow. "The farm boy… he serves you?" Her voice gradually grew more assertive, anger gifting false courage. "Then the wolf sighting was a set up? To lure Pip away to his death and to get me alone?" Seras snapped.

The Count's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, eliciting a whine from Baskerville. Seras took a step back, and his frown hardened. "Certainly I could not have had him in our household any longer, Police Girl. He was successfully poisoning you against me!" He growled, and Seras felt an inconsolable rage well inside her.

"Do not justify it!" She screeched, taking a step toward him.

"Y-you tried to kill him just as you killed my family! You killed them all, you killed them!" Seras screamed while getting closer and closer to him and straight into the shadows. They licked at her ankles in warning, but gave her no pain or discomfort. Tears rushed to her eyes and threatened to fall, and she looked up to avoid having them spill in front of the Count once again.

The Count crossed his arms and watched her warily, a strange flicker in his eye. "I did not participate or order the attacks on your family." Alucard intoned once she had calmed somewhat and wasn't on the verge of tears any longer. He spoke slowly and in low tones.

Her head snapped up, eyes blazing. "I don't believe you!" She took several more steps closer to him. She was close enough now to see what little white was left of his eyes, the shine of his teeth.

"Who else would do such a thing? Who else would want to? My f-family," Seras bit her cheek, trying so hard not to break down, but failing all the same. "My family had no business with your dastardly game! They wouldn't have gotten in your way; you could've eventually had me! I, " She gulped another breath of air. "I loved you! But now… now…" Seras was shaking now, but from mourning, rage, or terror she didn't know. Tears freely fell down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body.

Two large hands suddenly clasped her shoulders and forced her closer to the vampire, although she refused to meet his eye.

"Listen to me, and listen to me well." He spoke softly, but did not come off as anything less than threatening. "It was not my intent to harm your loved ones. Those who are responsible sit before you in my grasp."

Seras' eyes widened, and she tore out of the Count's hold with an unholy amount of force. Walter… Renfield… the farm hand? Impossible! How? Why? When?

"Walter…?" She whispered, stunned that the old butler could've done such a thing. She truly didn't want to believe he had been involved.

The Count scoffed. "He was not involved in either incident. However," The Count had disappeared to stand directly behind her now, close enough for her to feel his garishly red great coat brush against the back of her evening dress.

"I hold him accountable for other crimes." His voice dropped in tone, and Seras involuntarily shuddered. A strong arm slowly snaked around her waist, pulling her closer into a backwards embrace that was more a claim than anything else.

"No, Police Girl," He whispered into the shell of her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, "it was my servants who went against my will, my servants who harmed your family. It was Xavier who managed your sister's ordeal, and it was Renfield who plotted the downfall of your household. It was done under my nose in the hopes that my favor could be won by doing away with your relations so you would be more easily obtainable." His lips dangerously trailed away from her ear and ghosted down to the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her heartbeat was erratic, and it was getting hard to think. Her mind was blank as it tried to absorb as much as it could.

"What will you have me do, my Police Girl?" She could feel his smile on her delicate skin, and she fought the instinct to lean in to him. His grip tightened on her waist, and his thumbs kneaded innocent little circles into the sides of her waist. She remained numb, irresponsive to his caresses.

"Shall I kill them for you?" He hummed crassly, planting a light kiss over her jugular and continuing back up of the side of her neck.

 _Shall I kill them?_

His offer hit her like the cold wind of a winter's night. She audibly swallowed while still clutching her shaking fist to her chest. Seras was suddenly all too terrified not by the Count, but by the sudden realization that yes, _she did want them to die_. Rage, cold and all encompassing, wanted them to bleed by her hand. She wanted them to feel the pain and horror her family had, to be aware of her torment in every sense of the word.

But to do so would make her no better than one of the monsters that kneeled before her.

The Count apparently felt her sudden stiffness, the slight increase in her breath and heartbeat, and nuzzled his cheek to hers in a farce at comfort. "I willingly volunteer my services, but you may certainly have the honors." He purred slowly, seductively. Seras could feel his fingers digging in to her waist through her corset and his warm breath on her cheek.

Her mind swam. She wouldn't even have to kill them herself, technically freeing her of the guilt. But after all was said and done, a hesitant voice noted from the back of her mind, there would still be two dead bodies to be accounted for. There would still be death and blood, but this time it would certainly be her fault. Innocent or guilty, there would be no denying or justifying it. But even though it would be _all_ on her - Seras clenched her fists - she couldn't continue lying to herself that she didn't want them to die. Her fingernails left sharp indents in her palms.

What would Edith have done? Would she have indulged in revenge, would she have stared into the abyss until it stared back? Her sister had never been a violent person and had only taken to dealings with Sir Hellsing once she had grown concerned with her sister's relationship with the Count.

It hadn't escaped her notice that the Count had been so quick to offer the death of his underlings as well. Could she really trust his word? Should she trust his word? Teachings of the Church, long crammed into her long-term memory from mindless Sunday School sessions, began to resurface.

"An eye for an eye… makes the whole world blind." She managed to choke out even though a surprisingly large part of her screamed in fury as she did so. It had been both her disgust with her family's killers and her own pride that kept her from accepting the Count's offer. She was surprised to find that she was about to cry. She could practically hear the Count frown.

"I see you're still Catholic." Was his ill-placed remark.

 **BAM. BAM.**

It was so sudden that it took both Seras and the Count by surprise, although Baskerville hadn't even glanced toward the source of the sound. Sir Integra stood tall behind the two now limp and disintegrating forms of Renfield and the Farm Boy, her gun still smoking. She met their gazes evenly, first Seras and then the Count. Her charcoal great coat, torn and disheveled, fluttered in a sudden gust of wind.

"I have never failed to take advantage of the opportunities bestowed upon me. I will never fail to kill a vampire if chance allows it." Her voice was cold but level, controlled. Her posture was perfect even while the Count's black flames licked at her ankles. It seemed that the Hellsing heiress had regained her composure and her sense of self… for the time being, at least. Walter, still held by darkness, was still and looked upon her with a tired, indiscernible expression.

Seras stared. Whether it was at the suddenness of Sir Hellsing's actions, the jumble of her conflicting thoughts and morals, or the fact that the vampires had just _turned to dust_ before her eyes that rendered her speechless she didn't know or care. It was all too much. She desperately wanted to be able to bottle and throw away her emotions, to run away, to place as much distance between herself and this horrible nightmare of a night as she could.

But the Count's hold around her waist didn't loosen, and Sir Integra's expression didn't waver even when the black flames sprung back to life and trapped all four of them in the circle. She would not be allowed to forget, not now and – if what she feared proved true – not ever. It was pointless not to accept the fact that her life had been irrevocably changed.

"How… thoughtful of you, Sir Hellsing." The Count spoke cordially, and Seras didn't need to turn to imagine the horrible smile that he undoubtedly bared. "You exterminated the rats for us. How _kind_!" The flames encircling them jumped tenfold in height.

Sir Integra said nothing, but took an obvious step closer to Walter. Seras stared at her desperately, but the woman did not meet her gaze. Seras' knees started to shake, and this time the Count didn't do anything to console her. His attention remained focused solely on Sir Hellsing.

"However," He laughed as Baskerville began to prowl. "I did not ask for your assistance, did I?! I do not recall requiring your services!" The Count's civil sentence ended in disjointed laughter, insanity. Seras cried out when he began to grip her too hard, and several of Baskerville's additional eyes opened, unblinking.

Sir Hellsing's eyes narrowed. She raised her gun even with Seras pressed against him, more than perfectly able to follow the Count's train of thought. Seras blanched at her with no little amount of hurt in her stare. Now that they had come to the end of the rope, was Sir Integra going to abandon her?

As if on cue, the woman's eyes flickered from the Count to Seras for split second, so quick that Seras almost missed it. But the look in her eye, the tensing of her jaw, told Seras all she needed to know. Sir Integra had already lost too much to lose the game.

"As such I hold you responsible for the unlawful execution of two of my subjects! You had no jurisdiction to kill them, yet their blood is on your hands. What a pity, what an _injustice_!" He began to shake with laughter. Seras began to fidget only to be held to tighter. "Oh the mighty Sir Hellsing, harbinger of justice, the White Knight, to be the one to commit such a crime in front of the vampire world's highest judge! What a shame. You, of all humans, should know that the only punishment fit for murder is _death_!" The Count was laughing, practically screaming as he declared the verdict, picking up Seras and spinning them both around in backwards circles.

Sir Integra did not lower her guns.

"You can cut the act, Hellsing scum. I'm sure your arms grow tired." The Count stopped laughing once they stopped spinning, though his gruesome smile remained intact. Baskerville slowly began to stalk around Sir Integra and Walter, tongue lolling and haunches risen.

Sir Integra did not lower her guns.

The Count's smile didn't waver. "Well, then…" He shifted so as to scoop Seras fully into his embrace, one of his arms still placed firmly around her waist while the other was snaked under her knees to pull her off of the ground. Her cheek brushed against the silk of his shirt and aside from her face peeking out, his great coat consumed her.

What happened next wasn't obvious to Seras at first. The Count was quiet, although Baskerville's panting became more noticeable. It was Walter, who began to moan, that gave away what was happening. After what seemed like a single minute his moans morphed into a yellthat she was sure would later haunt her nightmares. It was when Sir Integra finally broke her stance to begin to walk, hop, and then _leap_ around in the most undignified manner Seras had ever seen her behave in that she knew something was wrong.

Their surrounding temperature struck her. The black flames, still encircling them and covering the grassy ground under their shoes, had gone from harmless to four hundred and fifty one degrees in a second. Her eyes widened, jaw slackening. Dear God, he was trying to burn them alive!

Already the air began to smell of burning rubber, cotton, and… she stopped herself before she could go on. Smoke rose around Sir Hellsing's feet and Walter's form. Oh God, Walter! His entire body was covered in shadow! The Count was going to kill them, really kill them, if she didn't do something! Her throat constricted from guilt, shame, horror, and fear. More people were going to die because of her! Seras clutched the Count's shirt and pulled herself up to face him. She couldn't allow that to happen anymore, not after all Sir Hellsing and Walter had done for her!

"Stop it! Please, please stop it! I'll go with you, I vow to cooperate!" Seras screeched with tears streaming down her cheeks as she looped her hand around the Count's neck, pulling herself close to his face. "Please, oh God, please do not harm them! Do not hurt them anymore, _please_!" She forced herself not to shudder, not to give in to her fear when those searing red eyes focused on her.

The screaming began to taper off. From somewhere out in the field, Baskerville whined in disappointment.

"Oh, Police Girl? You offer your word?" The Count asked. Her heart stopped in the face of his suddenly impassive, analytical expression. His skin was pearlescent in the moonlight and it stunned her that she thought that even after all this he was still horribly, horribly beautiful.

Seras gulped. She met his eye, albeit not fearlessly. She desperately wanted to take it back, to deny it, but Sir Integra and Walter's lives were dependent on her sacrifice. This would be her last chance to possibly rid herself of the Count… but in the end, Seras thought, it was not a far-fetched assumption to think that Sir Hellsing and Walter would do more good during the course of their lives than she would have been able to. And even if she did somehow manage to get out of this nightmare… would the Count ever really leave her alone?

"I..I…" Seras stuttered, her grip around the Count's neck faltering with her growing fear. But then she stole a quick glance at Sir Hellsing, who glared up at the Count from where she sat on her knees next to Walter's motionless form. The soles of her shoes were entirely gone and the bottoms of her feet were a unnaturally bright red. Seras swallowed.

"I give you my word. I will go with you as long as you leave Sir Hellsing and Walter in peace, Count Alucard." Seras paused before stealing another glance at the two. The wind picked up once more, relieving them of some of the smoke.

"Please… don't hurt them anymore." Her voice was quiet, but final. She looked the Count in the eye for a moment before she lost her nerve and looked away. It wasn't a second later before the Count reshuffled her in his arms to hold her in one and to gently take her chin in the other to move it to face him. Seras had no choice but to stare in the face of death once more.

Even though he was a true monster, a demon, a killer, a murderer, he was still beautiful. The dark ebony of his hair contrasted perfectly with the milky whiteness of his skin, and his eyes bore in to hers like shining red rubies. The Count offered her a mischievous smile, identical to the one he had given her when she and Edith first ran in to him in the library. A true Mephistopheles.

"I accept your offer, Seras Victoria." His voice was back to its usual velvety, seductive tone. He turned his back to Sir Integra and Walter, and snapped his fingers. The shadows that had originally crackled around them suddenly dropped to the ground like water and slithered to their master before bubbling and swishing to eventually form the likeness of a horse and open-air carriage. The Count wasted no time in approaching and stepping in to it, depositing Seras on the seat opposite him before whistling for Baskerville. Once the dog bounded inside, the Count clicked his tongue and the shadow stallion took off along the moor, paying the sharp bracken and thorny heather no mind.

Seras turned backwards to steal once more glance at the couple fading in the background, biting her bottom lip. The Count noticed her expression, but reclined against the thick cushioned seat his shadows had made. Apparently they had good taste.

"Rest assured, my Seras Victoria, I will do nothing more to harm them this day." He said with that mischievous smile still stuck on his face. The Count looked up at the starry sky above them before looking back down to meet Seras' questioning gaze.

"I believe they will have enough between them to make up for anything I failed to achieve." Seras didn't nod, didn't respond. She remained silent and turned to watch them disappear from view.

Sir Hellsing appeared to be standing over Walter, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind. Seras thought that strange – shouldn't Sir Hellsing have been on the ground, attending to his wounds. Or… perhaps Walter was already too far gone. Seras swallowed the lump in her throat, and quickly looked away and missed the way Sir Hellsing leapt as far away from Walter as her injured feet would allow her.

For Walter was not dead.

No, Walter had reawakened to reveal bright, fiery copper eyes.

 **A/N:**

Fun fact: I'm actually Catholic lol

Uh… hey guys! How ya been?

Again, sorry for the delay! All I can say is that organic chem and microbio are killer.

Ahehehe… at least they're making a third season of Tokyo ghoul!

Thank you all for sticking by me and reviewing so kindly! Next chapter is completely new material – whoo hoo!

Della


	13. XIII

{A/N:} Still don't own Hellsing!

* * *

 **XIII.**

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of her at once. Ash from the charred ground wafted through the air like a transparent cloud. Sir Integra was able to stand only for a moment before her feet could take the burden no longer and her legs gave out from under her. She landed on her knees in the ash and triggered a thick, smoky cloud to encase them. Her entire body burned.

Walter had yet to make a move, had yet to have even spoken a word. He just sat there and stared at her with those Godforsaken eyes. His expression was set in the same unreadable neutrality that had aggravated as a child her until she'd matured enough to overlook it. She was furious that she still wasn't able to see through him.

Primal fear took hold of her and chilled her to the bone, and she hated herself for it. But then again, it wasn't so often that one stared their death in the face for longer than a second.

After another long and silent moment, Walter rose from the ashes with grace and without pain. Though his feet were painted black from soot, she assumed he'd acquired heightened healing abilities from his transformation. He could be classified as a second tier vampire* by eye color alone.

Sir Integra gripped one of the empty revolvers in her hand more from instinct than comfort. Second tier vampires had been the thorn in Hellsing's side for the past decade. High and middle ranking first tier vampires such as the Count and his direct subordinates were so rarely sighted, let alone engaged in battle, that their very existence was regarded as more legend than threat. The first-tiers were more a means to scare new recruits into memorizing battle drills than something to be taken seriously.

But it was the second and third tier vampires, the go-to soldier species of the vampire world, that Hellsing battled with the most. Just strong enough to put up a hard fight but weak enough to be killed by holy weapons, they were the common predators of back alleys and unsecured bedrooms. Second-tiers lacked the frightening supernatural powers of their First-tier masters, but still posed a terrible threat to an unarmed human.

Walter stopped about a foot away from where she knelt, the red bottoms of her feet weeping fluid and blood. Anger more potent than anything else she'd ever felt rose through her at her humiliating position.

Integra curled her fingers into the soot.

"For how long have you plotted against me, Walter? For how long have I been made a fool of?" She was the first to speak, and she was careful not to show the extent of her hurt and bitterness in her voice. She still had to forge a dignified death somehow.

Walter was silent a moment. Perhaps now that he was a vampire, he couldn't deign to speak to his prey. Sir Integra curled her lip at the thought.

"Not as long as you might have thought, Sir." Walter's voice was quiet. If she hadn't known better, she would've said that he almost sounded guilty.

It was too bad that guilt was a human emotion.

Sir Integra snarled. "That's _Sir Hellsing_ to you."

"Of… course." He sounded so calm, so steady. The tremor of old age had disappeared from his voice entirely.

She tensed when he closed the distance between them and reached down to loop his arms under her knees and upper back. He gently lifted her like a little doll. Did it ease his conscience, she wondered cynically, to play nanny again?

That pissed her off.

"You dare to touch me so impiously after betraying me so deeply? Does your treachery know no bounds?" She spat in his face. It was the first time she'd acted so crudely in all her twenty-three years, and not to mention against the man who'd essentially raised her.

But Walter only sighed and wiped off the saliva as though she was still just the small, awkward girl in the ill-fitting pantsuit he'd met over a decade ago. Someone way out of her depth, all too naive and easily bruised. Integra knew she was at his total mercy. She couldn't even stand to walk and regardless of what the Count had promised, _Walter_ was not truly bound by any oath.

Walter started off with a slow walk that gradually increased to a trot, then a sprint, then to an ungodly speed that rivaled that of her best steed. He held Sir Integra securely in his arms and gave no signs of slowing down or being hindered by the extra weight. Her eyes watered from the speed and the dust kicked up. In what felt like only minutes later Walter stopped, and only then did Integra realize Cramer Hall was back in sight.

Walter was silent as they observed the flames illuminating the third and second floors, listened to the distant booms of bombs and gunfire. Her heart leapt in her chest in desperate hope, but she bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. She had an idea of what Walter was planning, but it was best to feign ignorance for the time being.

Sir Integra tried not to stiffen in anticipation when he started toward the manor at an unbearably slow pace. She tried not to scoff when he threw in a limp for good measures. The damn coward.

"Trying to tie up loose ends to appease your new master?" Sir Integra goaded as they climbed the hill she'd chased Seras' carriage down not even an few hours ago. The sounds of yelling and breaking glass grew louder.

"You surely can't expect me to go through all this trouble only to be killed in misunderstanding, Sir." Walter replied.

"What? Is the Count so possessive of his new bride that he'd bite anything that'd dare touch her?" The comfort she took in their banter was alarming.

"Well, his familiar _is_ a dog, you know."

Sir Hellsing had just begun to respond when Walter stopped suddenly, only a few steps shy of the top of the hill and her soldiers' range of sight. He heaved a sigh and looked down at Sir Hellsing for the first time since he'd grabbed her. His expression resembled that of someone who'd just remembered a particularly troublesome chore after they'd checked everything else off their to-do list.

"If you attempt to communicate my change to any of the soldiers, I will kill all of them before I kill you." He was so nonchalant he might as well have been giving her the forecast for the morning.

"While I am only a second-tier, you of all people should know that new fledglings obtain an obscene amount of power during the first few hours after their first feeding." His eyes glinted from behind his glasses. "However, if you don't draw attention to my new self, there will be no massacre."

She tried not to smile.

"Why not just kill me quietly when you could? Why come back here of all places?" Sir Integra snapped.

Walter sighed again, as though disappointed in her inability to follow along. "I am not in particularly good graces with the Count. Killing you myself would rob him of the honor and simultaneously upset his bride. I'd rather not find myself in either position… the punishment would be the same." He smiled. She felt the need to spit again.

"As for the Manor… I was told to meet my new master here."

"Hoy, show yourselves!" A voice boomed from overhead. Walter sighed and readjusted Sir Hellsing in his arms.

"Hello! Hello, we are down here!" Walter stumbled up the thorny slope and into the light cast by the burning manor. He took care to add an air of desperation to his voice.

The soldier, whose silhouette stood at the precipice and kept his rifle trained on them, slowly lowered it when it became clear just who he was aiming at. Sir Hellsing recognized him as one of their soldiers once they'd gotten close enough to make out his features. He was, however, flanked by two stalky figures in impractical black cassocks and wooden crucifixes. Sir Hellsing's lip curled.

"Sir Hellsing! Mr. Dornez!" The soldier instantly gave the traditional salute, and Sir Hellsing immediately waved it off from Walter's arms.

One of the Iscariot gestured to the other, who nodded and walked off without a word.

"So," Sir Hellsing coughed. Walter tightened his grip on her. "It seems the Iscariot Organization finally made it. One cannot say you fail to make haste."

The remaining Iscariot chewed on her cigarette, apparently unconcerned that Sir Hellsing was probably bleeding out in front of her. She holstered one of the two pistols she carried and the other remained none so casually in her other hand. Her short, fair hair was splattered with blood.

"Indeed, Sir Hellsing. Although I must say, no one expected the Hellsing Organization to have been so poorly organized as we found it." The woman's voice was short and brittle, but still had a bit of a cocky edge to it. "Soldiers lazing at the bottom of the hill, waiting on orders from a leader who'd run off on her own?"

Sir Hellsing took a deep breath.

She light-headed to the point of nausea, her feet had gone numb, and she had to somehow thwart a newly minted vampire's escape plan. But Jesus Christ, Sir Hellsing had not forgotten why she hated the Iscariot.

"Those are not observations for one such as you to make." Sir Hellsing retorted. She hated how strained her own voice was.

The pain was becoming unbearable. Any slight movement or jostle sent waves of agony from her feet up through her legs. She wondered, fleetingly, how much of the damage was permanent. Despite that, Sir Hellsing noticed that the screaming she'd heard as they approached seemed to be dying down.

"Where is Anderson?" She demanded.

"As you can see," Walter decided to butt in. "Sir Hellsing has been grievously wounded and needs attended to. Where is first aid offered?"

"I do not need-" Sir Hellsing tried to say.

"I'm not certain!" the Hellsing soldier sputtered, looking around.

The Iscariot shrugged before spitting out her cigarette and tossing it over her shoulder. She seemed much more fatigued without it.

"I'd assume Yumie to be bringing Father Anderson soon. He was inside the Manor last time anyone checked." The woman clapped her hands over her pockets and sighed when she found them to be empty.

Sir Hellsing could practically feel an aneurism coming on from these people's nonchalance. Good God, they still had a master vampire to kill, someone to rescue, and several underlings to deal with! There was manor burning down not twenty feet away from them, for Christssake! Was she the only one here who cared?

"Retrieve Alexander Anderson at once!" Sir Hellsing roared. The startled Hellsing soldier nodded about twelve times before finally running off.

The Iscariot nun gave Walter, then Sir Hellsing, a pointed look. "She seems well enough to me."

"A high tolerance for pain runs in the Hellsing family, I'm afraid. Quite higher than the average man." She forced herself not to stiffen at Walter's none-too subtle threat.

Sir Hellsing was surprised the nun hadn't seen through Walter yet. However, he'd taken care to keep his face in the shadows - to hide his new eye color, no doubt - while the rest of his body and Sir Integra were illuminated by the gold flames. Even if he did step into the light, Sir Integra theorized sourly, the orange light cast by the fire would allow for most people to disregard it as a trick of the light. And after all, who would accuse Walter, of all people, of being a vampire?

"Ay, so ye finally condescended to sit through yer own tea, did ya?"

It was the warmest welcome she could have expected to receive. Anderson appeared behind the nun with Sir Hellsing's soldier. They were trailed by yet another glaring nun in a priest's garb, only this time with black hair.

Anderson was so covered in soot he looked as though he'd just climbed up a chimney, and his garb so bloodied and burnt that he may have just as well rolled out of Dante's Inferno. He was studded with weapons - one bayonet in each hand, several pistols holstered comfortingly around his hips.

"Oh, save me, Anderson." Sir Hellsing spat from behind gritted teeth. She could feel Walter's muscles subtly stiffen, hear his sudden intake of breath. "What the hell happened here? We asked Iscariot to act as reinforcements, not crusaders." She hissed. Walter's exhale was slow and shallow.

Anderson laughed sharply, sheathing one bayonet and turning over the other in his right hand. He gestured to the burning house behind him with it.

"When we arrived yer soldiers were all hepped up and waiting outside the edge of the woods. Wouldn't go in, was too dark. Said it was guarded by the Old Shuck and two had been killed by it when they tried to get through the first time." Anderson wasn't smiling anymore. "We belted the thing 'til it up an ran back to whatever Hell it crawled out of. Then we came here."

"I see." Sir Integra shifted uncomfortably. She tried to suppress a cringe of pain and hoped it hadn't shown too much. "I believe you ran in to the Count's familiar." She neglected to mention that they'd decided to retreat from it.

"Aye, don't doubt it. It tried to eat the head off, it did." He turned to the fair-haired nun beside him. "Heinkel, help Walter with 'er."

The woman moved forward, but Walter took a step back. He looked up at them with a sheepish smile. "There is no need."

Anderson was quiet for a moment before shaking his head. "Right."

Heinkel moved to stand beside her commanding officer once more. The screaming and fighting around them had gradually subsided, leaving them with nothing but the sound of the flames. Hellsing soldiers and Iscariot alike began to congregate behind Anderson, on stand-by for new orders.

"When we finally got through the woods, we see one of yer soldiers and three horses, dead, lying right there on the front steps. Bodies all in flitters, but nay a drop o blood."

Sir Hellsing closed her eyes and took a deep breath. So she'd lost Timothy, and probably at Walter's hands - the hands that currently held her. Another body to be added to the absurd count Hellsing had accumulated in the past fourteen hours. Perhaps that had been the Count's goal all along: knock Hellsing down to a dysfunctional number, grab the girl, turn the girl, kill the enemies. Two birds with one stone.

But realistically, if that had been his true plan, the Count would have nothing to do for the next hundred years. There were few to no other organizations that could muster up the strength to combat the Count's underlings. He'd have won too easily and would be left to rot on a throne day in and day out. Therefore, Sir Hellsing felt relatively safe in ruling out such a thoughtful ulterior motive from the king. Grandfather always said that even vampires needed a hobby, and making war and slaughtering things could be counted as such.

"There were three horses, so we assumed you all were in the mansion." Anderson smirked and cast a glance at the smoldering manor. "We tore through it up an out. Found half an undead army pining for us on the third floor."

Unsurprising, Sir Hellsing thought as she remembered the eerie lighting of the castle when they'd first arrived.

"They were either ready to ambush or made to guard something." She intoned levelly. "Most likely the Count's coffin."

Anderson nodded.

"Ay, most likely." His voice was calmer now, so it was surprise for Anderson to suddenly pull out a revolver and shoot Walter point-blank in the head.

There was a stunned silence in which Walter stood still in shock before beginning to fall forward. Sir Integra was grabbed out of his arms by a nearby soldier just before she was dragged down with him. Once Sir Hellsing was out of harm's way, the Hellsing soldiers snapped back in to action - by aiming their rifles at Father Anderson.

"Permission to shoot, Sir!" About eight different voices cried out at once.

Sir Hellsing could feel the emotion building in the air, which no doubt amplified the confusion of why she shook her head 'no.' Walter had been a friend and sort of fatherly figure to many of her soldiers, most of whom had come to Hellsing from difficult homes. It was a personal affront.

Sir Hellsing gripped the shirt of the man who held her, a boy barely over nineteen who was most likely one of her new recruits. It was a shame that he had to suffer through what was probably Hellsing's most bloody mission to date. It was a shame that the truth of the world had been so violently and quickly presented to him. It wasn't easy to lose one's naivety.

"Stand down." Sir Hellsing managed to cough up at her men. They seemed conflicted by the order, but did so all the same.

Then she looked up at the soldier who held her. "Get back," Her voice was cracked and alien to her own ears. The boy-man nodded and did just that. She could feel his heart beating rapidly through his shirt, and she found that it almost matched the pace of her own.

Anderson seemed to take her words as his cue to keep shooting. He went through all the rounds of his first revolver, threw it at the blonde nun to catch when it ran out of bullets, and pulled out his second and unloaded it on the vampire. Walter's body twitched with every shot.

"I must say, I didn't take you as a man of subtlety." Sir Hellsing said once he'd run out of bullets.

Anderson's smile was smug. "The day ya ask me to 'save ya' is the day Hell freezes over." His laugh was dry. "An he didn't even bother to hide his eyes. 'tis offensive to think we're so stupid, y'know.

Their conversation was cut short when the blood Walter had shed on the ground began to move back to where the new vampire lay, face in the dirt. His limbs started to twitch violently, and there was a slight moment of stillness before he moaned into the ground.

"I must say, this has become _quite_ the irritation." He said before looking up, copper eyes bright and bared for everyone to see.

* * *

Seras curled in to herself in the corner of the open-air carriage. Perhaps, her subconscious reasoned, if she made herself small enough, he'd lose track of her. But judging from the Count's unyielding stare from the other side of the carriage and the way Baskerville curled around her, the Count did not plan to let her out of his sight.

Her lilac dinner gown was in tatters and did nothing to shield her from the cool wind, but Baskerville provided a decent amount of protection. He was surprisingly soft and affectionate for a hellhound. Now that they'd left the threat behind, the dog had reverted back to the normal canine form she'd first met him in. His body was curled snugly around her waist, and his head rested comfortably in her lap. At first Seras hadn't wanted to even touch Baskerville, but after several minutes she'd started to pet its head if only just as an excuse to continue to avoiding the Count's eye.

"When we arrive to the shore," The Monster finally broke the silence. Seras gulped and didn't look up. "we will board a boat which will take us to France. From there, we shall travel onward to my home in Romania."

Her hand shook. His home in Romania. Dear God, she was really going through with this, wasn't she? She had hoped that giving herself away for Sir Integra and Walter would give them time to recover and fight him. But Seras still feared what was to become of her in the mean time. She'd come to realize all too quickly that she hadn't fully thought that part through.

Romania was a very far ways away.

If the Count expected her to respond, he didn't say so. They sat in silence for another long moment before Seras finally mustered up the courage to break it. She couldn't tell if she was shivering from the cold or fear.

"Alucard…" She spoke softly.

The Count hissed, as if affronted, and Seras instinctively flinched. Baskerville whined at the disturbance and buried his snout further into her lap.

"Do not call me that. Do no speak or so much as think that name." His voice was deathly calm. She was uncertain if that meant she'd struck a nerve or if he'd picked up on her fear of him and decided to control his emotions around her. Seras ventured a peek up at him and was instantly drawn in to his bright, iridescent eyes.

"What should I call you, then?" She whispered.

He looked away for a moment in thought. The trance was broken and she, relieved, did the same.

"The Count will suffice for now, I suppose." He paused. "You will be calling me by a very different name soon, anyway." She didn't miss the sly smirk that slid across his face.

Seras blanched and looked down at Baskerville, who by this point was simply the friendly black dog she remembered from the Count's townhouse library. For a moment it was easy to pretend that they'd only gone out on a midnight drive in the country, that her family was still waiting for her back in England… but some things were too dire to ignore, and Seras couldn't forget she'd signed her soul away.

He couldn't hurt her now, could he?

"Then, My Lord…" Seras began softly.

She slowly looked up and was not surprised to have the Count's full attention. Perhaps the better question was whether he would hurt her.

She seemed to have surprised him by speaking to him so soon after all the trauma of the night. A good part of her was surprised as well, but Sera believed her survival would be determined by whether or not she could stay in his good graces.

"Why does that name…" Her next words had to seem well-intended and caring, else he become angry and attack, "…pain you so? What did they do to you?"

The Count laughed. It was short and bitter. Seras' shoulders relaxed slightly.

"What did they do to me? What did that demon van Helsing do to me, you ask?" He murmured, his smirk gone and replaced with a deep frown. "Perhaps the better question is what torture he didn't inflict upon me."

Seras remembered Sir Hellsing mention that it had been her grandfather to hold the Count captive for quite some time. "You speak of Sir Hellsing's grandfather?" She ventured quietly.

The Count hissed. "Yes! I speak of him! The man was a lunatic and, for all the names he gave me, a true monster." The Count shook his head. "There was a reason why van Helsing's son decided to discreetly change his surname."

Seras bit her lip. "I thought that was to do with English custom… th-that the 'van' was too German for an English aristocratic family."

"Such English arrogance would not surprise me. But no, the van Helsing was given his title once he presented my subjected, battered body to the queen as proof that he and his children could serve as the Church's holy knights." He laughed bitterly. "And serve they did. The old man went insane by the end, and the younger one had to change the name so as not to forever be associated with the mad doctor among polite society."

She was afraid to ask what he meant by that, but the Count was on a roll.

"The reason your Sir Hellsing understands how to effectively combat vampires is thanks to the years of torture I was subjected to. How long can a vampire last in the sun? If we pluck out his fingernails, toenails, and eyelashes, will they grow back? How many times can we do it before he stops feeling pain? How high is his pain threshold? How long can be starved for? Can he eat anything other than blood? How much? How can we decapitate him? _Can we starve him, burn him, and skewer him all at the same time?_ " His eyes took on a wild light and he leapt to his feet, wind billowing through his air and cape.

"They have told you that I am a devil, a monster, that I want nothing more to kill and eat you! They say I am mad _but do they understand that they are a part of the blame?_ " He was screaming now, and his cries were carried off into the night for no one else to hear.

"They pretend to want nothing more then to protect their people, they love to play the role of the righteous while they are _NOTHING BUT MONSTERS THEMSELVES!_ " He was shaking, completely and utterly lost in his own madness. He stared out at the moorland behind her head at the ghosts that undoubtedly still haunted his mind.

"I drink blood to survive, yes, but I do not have a choice." The Count spoke lowly once he'd seemed to calm down. "They do."

And despite all that had happened, all that she had lost, Seras could see the truth and pain in his eyes. She was still afraid and did not excuse his actions, but she now she felt she was able to understand him if even just a bit. And through that understanding, and against all the other emotions Seras felt, she couldn't help but begin to sympathize with him.

That feeling gave her the nerve to speak. "Did… did Sir Integra…?"

The Count's gaze flashed back to her, and for a moment he looked as though he'd only just remembered her presence. He shook his head.

"She was but a child when I made my escape. Her dying, vile father had been poisoned by her uncle so he could steal ownership of me. She hid in the attic while the uncle attempted to transfer ownership of me from his brother, but the man was a fool who couldn't tell Greek from Latin." He smiled darkly. "I was set free at the first misspoken syllable. I dismembered him. I still think it a pity that her father was dead when I came for him. That would have been quite exciting."

Seras stared at him and shook her head, trying to absorb it all. Her mouth was dry. "The Hellsing family tortured you, owned you, yet you didn't kill Integra…"

He tilted his head to the side, an eerie smile playing at his lips. He closed the distance between them.

"I could say that I decided to spare her, since she was but a child…" He leaned in to take her face in his hands. They were ice cold. "…but in reality I wanted the last Hellsing to feel the greatest extent of pain possible." His voice was hardly above a whisper.

The Count closed his eyes and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, smiling. Seras shivered.

"You understand, my dear, that I would never harm you or your family in such a terrible way. I would never dare harm you or, in extension, those you held dear." He murmured as he drew back.

The Count let go of her face and sat down on the cushion next to her. Baskerville whined and shimmied out of the way. The vampire slowly snaked a long arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him so that she was held flesh against his side. He leaned over and buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath.

"Sir Hellsing has been rotted inside out by her hatred of me. She used your poor sister as a pawn in her selfish game." He said quietly before taking one of her hands in his.

"She knew the danger she put your innocent, teenaged sister in - danger she as an experienced vampire slayer could have taken up instead." He rubbed comforting circles in her palm with his thumb.

"And yet Sir Hellsing chose to send that poor, sweet young lady into harm's way just to get back at me." The Count whispered. "My underlings take orders from me, but even so they can still go against me. Even I cannot turn back time, I cannot stop them if it is too late. Sir Hellsing knew this. Sir Hellsing chose to involve your innocent family in her war without your or their permission, my Seras. She put them all in danger, she sacrificed them for a cause they were not invested in. Had Sir Hellsing never allowed your sister to get involved, no malicious attention would have ever been drawn to your family, my love." He whispered into her hair.

"Sir Hellsing is the true monster here, my dear."

Seras didn't say a word and stared straight ahead as he kissed her cheek. His grip on her tightened, but she did not move away.

* * *

 **{ Notes:}**

\- The vampire ranking system for this story goes as follows:

 **First tier** : The oldest and most powerful vampires, usually thought to be more legend than fact; this includes Alucard, his offspring, and higher level aristocrats. Identified by their bright red eye color and thought to possess the purest bloodlines and strongest abilities.

 **Second tier** : More common than their First-tier superiors but less spotted than their Third-tier underlings. Maintain some bloodline abilities and can be identified by their bright copper eye colors. The more dangerous type of vampire Hellsing comes in contact with.

 **Third tier** : the common vampire scourge exterminated by Hellsing. Third-tiers have no known bloodline abilities and are identified by their yellow eye color.

This chapter was brought to you by the War & Peace and The Crown soundtracks. :) Really great finds, check them out!

I do apologize for taking a year to update. My life is absolutely insane in college, and I'm so busy that I barely have enough time to get 6.5 hours of sleep let alone write. However, next semester I'm hoping that I'll have more time to write. This story will be finished!… eventually.

Thank you all for your patience and continued support, it never ceases to amaze me how many people love this story. Though I don't have time to respond much anymore, I do read all the comments and PMs sent to me. I appreciate them more than you know, it literally makes my week!

Also, if anyone is ever in the mood to make fanart based off of any of the scenes in Civilities, you have my full permission. winkwink nudgeduge ;)

Until next time,

Della


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